


The Soldier and The Mercenary

by Luna_Hart



Category: Captain America (Movies), Deadpool (Movieverse), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes's Trigger Words, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Civil War (Marvel), Drunken Shenanigans, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Hallucinations, Humour, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt Wade Wilson, Light BDSM, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Wade Wilson, Sexual Tension, Sleep Paralysis, So Much Sexual Tension, Wade Wilson Feels, sort of cannon, until its not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-07-02 12:25:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15796497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luna_Hart/pseuds/Luna_Hart
Summary: James Barnes accidentally stumbles upon a bar called Sister Margaret's School for Wayward Girls and meets a mouthy mercenary who just screams trouble, but perhaps is just the kind of trouble he needs.





	1. Chapter 1

He was strictly minding his own business, walking down this incredibly sketchy alley in an extremely sketchy area of Manhattan.

James had moved into a dump of an apartment a few blocks away, paying rent with whatever he could pickpocket from the uptown yuppies. He hated living like this, on the fringes with no purpose but while he was still hiding from a certain blonde superhero, not to mention the entire rest of the world, it would have to do. Sometimes he wondered if he should just leave the city. It would make it easier to hide, but something compelled him to stay.

He pulled his ball cap lower over his eyes before tucking his hands in his bomber jacket. He wasn’t looking for trouble but it didn’t seem to make a difference these days. Trouble always seemed to find him. “Look-ee what we’ve got here, boys,” a slimy voice called from somewhere behind him. He slowed his steps as three brutish looking men rounded out from behind a dumpster in front of him. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing four more strolling up the alley behind him.

The one who had spoke clearly seemed to be the leader; a nasty looking brute with a shaved head and shoddily done tattoos ringing around his throat. He stalked around James with the gleeful air of a man looking to hurt someone. “You lost, little lamb?” the man sneered, hand snapping out to cuff the hat off James’ head. His long hair tumbled free, falling around his face in an unruly mess.

This delighted the man to no end, his eyes lighting up with a nasty gleam. “Pretty,” the man sneered as he rounded behind James. “You definitely don’t work around here,” the man sneered. “Unless you charge by the minute.” That caused a rough chorus of laughter to echo off the alley’s brick walls. A heavy boot connected painfully with the back of James’ knee and he dropped with a grunt. He hadn’t realized the man had gotten so close. He silently cursed himself for being so sloppy. The others were getting closer, some swinging baseball bats and steel pipes from ham-sized fists.

“So what’s it gonna be, pretty boy?” the leader snarled softly. Of of the corner of his eye, James could see the man reaching for his hair. “The easy way where you get to keep all your teeth or—!”

The man’s slimy rhetoric was cut off sharply as James spun on his knees, slapping the man’s hand away. At the same a vicious backhand up across the man’s face took him to his feet. As the brute stumbled back, he lashed back with his heavy combat boot. Another man dropped with a cry, clutching his knee. A third took a blow to the throat and then kicked hard into the side of a nearby dumpster. James stepped back, his blood singing, eyes sharp and ready for his next target. The rest of the men were more wary. They ringed around him in a rough semi-circle but were clearly hesitant to engage. “So it’s the hard way then,” the leader said, spitting blood as it poured from his clearly broken nose. James tensed as the man suddenly pulled a gun, aiming for his throat.

“Fucking fag—,”

For the second time that night, the skinhead’s words were cut off. This time it was to be a bit more permanent. James flinched back as man’s head disappeared in a blooming explosion of red; blood and brain matter splattered hot across his face. The remains of the man’s body hit the ground with a sickly splat.

“You absolute animals!” a whiney voice snapped. “For fuck’s sake, look at that mess!” James glanced across the alley where a man with long blonde hair and thick rimmed glasses was racking an ancient looking shotgun. “I just had this alley pressure washed last Tuesday!”

A man to James’ left, a big bruiser who looked as if Santa Claus had swallowed the Hulk, took a menacing step towards the newcomer. “Don’t even think about it, you fat fuck,” the man snapped, swinging the shotgun around. “Now gather up the Headless Horseman over there and go pick on someone your own size; if you can find someone your own size.”

James watched as the men did just that, grabbing the dead man by the elbows and dragging him down the alley. “You should talk to your doctor,” the man with the glasses called after them. “You probably have diabetes. High blood pressure at the very least. Coronaries are the silent killer! Night Terry,” the man added, giving a friendly slap on the shoulder to a scrawny mouse of a man who slipped out of the door behind him and scampered down the street. 

James swallowed thickly, staring at the bloody trail currently being created down the alley. “You alive over there?” His eyes snapped to the stranger who was shouldering the shotgun like a baseball bat. “ I’m fine,” he replied gruffly. “I had it handled,” he felt compelled to add. “And I volunteer at old folks homes because I like the smell of Poligrip and death,” the man snarked as he strode to the door and wrenched it open. “I didn’t do it for you. That asshole’s been skipping out on his bill for the past four months.” He paused when he realized that James wasn’t following him.

“Come on, new guy,” he said, throwing a glance over his shoulder. “First drink’s on the house.”

He hesitated. He really shouldn’t. He tried to avoid public places. The less people who saw him the better and yet for some reason he shoved himself off the wall and followed the man down a dark hallway. The door clanged heavily behind him as James followed the man into a low-lit, smoke-filled room. There was a pool table in the middle of the room, the bar stretching out along the left wall. The tables were occupied with a variety of extremely dangerous looking people as girls in skimpy tops wove through the crowds with trays of drinks.

“What’s your poison?” the man with the glasses called out as he ducked behind the bar. “Nothing imported!” he snapped swiftly. “Whiskey, neat,” James replied softly as he slide into an empty bar stool. His drink was slid across to him in record time, along with a damp rag with some questionable looking stains. “You look like someone sacrificed a virgin on your face,” the man said in response to James’ quizzical look. James wiped at his face dubiously, grimacing as the cloth came away streaked red.

“Haven’t seen you here before,” the man commented. “You new to the game or just the city?” James paused, right hand tense around the glass.“Contract killing,” the man stated like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Why else would you come to St. Margaret’s?” James furrowed his brow, not understanding a word the man was saying. He opened his mouth to say that he had just been passing by and hadn’t even known this place existed let alone had any intentions of coming inside when the man rode right over him.

“Hello? Sister Margaret’s School for Wayward Girls?” the man declared, waving a hand around indicating everything. “Aka, the Den of Depravity? Aka the Hell House? Brothel of Bastards? Mansion of Mercenaries?” James just shook his head, completely lost. “You have no idea what this place is, do you?” the man stated incredulously, to which James just shook his head again.

The man rolled his eyes. “God, those puppy dog eyes are worse than Wade’s,” he muttered with a sigh. “Think of us as a job centre for mercs. We provide the jobs, they provide the service, everyone gets paid, everyone’s happy. Well,” he added after a moments pause. “Not everyone.”

James tucked a stray lock of dark hair behind his ear, considering the man’s words. “You interested in a job?” he was asked shrewdly. James shrugged, mouth going dry as his mind whirling the possibility around in his head. He did need money and fast. It wasn’t like he could just walk in and hand over a resume at the local corner store. What would it even say; formerly a brainwashed assassin for a secret Nazi government, experienced in short hand and interrogation? Hobbies include sharp shooting and disembowelment?

He had the skills; everything he had learned during the war and then after with the Russians was just lying under the skin just waiting to be used. The problem was he didn’t want to use them anymore. The programming was another worry. It was all still there, everything that HYDRA had forced in his head. What if someone found out about who he really was? What if someone found the ledger, learned the words and forced him under again? What if—

“Jack Hammer,” the man said, interrupting his spiralling train of thought. “Call me Weasel.” James gripped the man’s offered hand. He was trying to decide what made-up name he wanted to live with for however long he was there for when a man with an army style buzzcut sidled up to the bar. “ ‘Scuse me,” Weasel said suddenly, sliding over to greet the newcomer. James sipped his whiskey, giving the newcomer a subtle once over through his eyelashes. He was tall, slim build but muscular with a military style buzzcut and a bright red bomber jacket with white fur trim.

He watched as Weasel handed him over a shot topped with whipped cream, clearly unhappy. “Remind me what good will come of this?” he heard Weasel grumble as Red Jacket handed the shot off to a passing server. “I don’t take the shits, I just disturb ‘em,” was the man’s reply as a big burly guy with a long white beard crossed the bar with a roar.

James turned in his seat to watch the bearded man slam the shot glass down on a table before punching out the man who was sitting at it. A brawl broke out, multiple people quickly involving themselves. He couldn’t help but notice that Red Jacket was watching with barely contained glee as the fight escalated. It eventually ended with Beardy punching out Leather Jacket and Weasel hustling his way through the crowd.

“Yep, he’s still breathing,” he declared to the blatant disappointment of everyone in the bar. “No one wins today,” he added as he made his way back to the bar. Weasel went back to chatting with Red Jacket who looked thoroughly disappointed and James went back to finishing his whiskey. He was contemplating exactly what a ‘Dead Pool’ was when Red Jacket called out “Soldier’s of fortune, drinks on me!” A thunderous roar of approval shook the walls. “Domestic, nothing imported!” Weasel called out over the raucous.

Buzzcut guy’s eyes scanned across the bar before catching his and holding. A spark of interest flashed across those hazel eyes and James looked away casually. Shit. He knew it was a mistake to come here; there were too many eyes, too many men looking to make money with little to no scruples on how they made it. He wasn’t naive enough to think that HYDRA hadn’t put out a bounty on his head. If they hadn’t, it was only a matter of time.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the man smirk, blatantly looking him over with a predatory spark in his eye. James downed the last of his whiskey, slapped a couple wrinkled bills on the bar counter, and slipped out the back before red jacket got any ideas about talking to him.

 

 

It took another two weeks before James was strapped enough for cash and itching for something to do. He figured there had to be jobs that weren’t all of the murderous variety. He slipped in through the back again, sliding into a vacant seat at the end of the bar. It was still early and the place was quiet. He kept his hood up, the gloves making his palms sweat in the muggy heat of the bar. “You came back,” Weasel said with a knowing smirk as he slide a whiskey across the bar towards him.

“Looks like,” James said roughly, taking the drink with a nod of thanks. “On the house for real this time,” the man said sternly. “My charity is sparse, give it the respect it deserves.” The man let James drink, polishing a beer stein with the same cloth James had used to wipe blood from his face the last time he was here.

“So, you wanna job or what?” Weasel asked lazily. “Any jobs that don’t require killing people?” James asked in return, feeling a little foolish for it. Weasel clearly thought the same, staring blankly at him. “Seriously?” the man stated blandly. “I just…,” James fumbled, carefully removing his metal hand from the glass before he shattered it by accident.

“I don’t do that stuff anymore.”

He felt the man’s calculating gaze boring holes through his head. “Yeah, okay, whatever,” Weasel slowly. “We always have a handful of the little league shit, scare-tactics and blackmail, that kinda thing. They don’t pay as much,” Weasel warned as he ducked down behind the bar. He returned a moment later, tossing a golden card in front of James. It was simple, wth a silver tree printed on the front and a name below it; _Webber, Nathanael._

“That’s your target,” Weasel explained. “You finished the job, you bring the card back, you get paid.” James pocketed the card after seeing the phone number on the back. “Thanks,” he said gruffly as he knocked back his whiskey in one. “Don’t mention it,” the man grumbled. “Like ever. I have a reputation. Aw fuck,” he added as the same guy from before strode up to the bar in his dark red jacket.

“Why are you here so early?” Weasel complained, snagging the glass James had used and poured the man a drink without even bothering to rinse it. “You’re never here this early. What happened? Who died? More accurately, who did you kill?” James didn’t hear the man’s reply as he took the opportunity to slip out the back door.

The job itself was straight forward enough; a jilted ex-husband making life for his former wife and her new family difficult. James made sure he got the message, causing no harm beyond a solid pair of pants.

"You work fast," Weasel said mildly as James returned late that same night and slide the gold card across the bar top. James just shrugged, slipping the cash he'd made into his pocket before Weasel suddenly flicked another gold card at his face. He caught it easily, twirling it between his fingers as he raised a curious eyebrow.

"What?" the man deflected. "You're practically the only one who will touch the small time-y stuff. I mean Wade’ll take ‘em sometimes but only when he’s bored or feeling the need to feed his god complex.” It was the second time he’d heard Weasel mention this _‘Wade’_ guy. He filed the name away, humming his thanks as the man planted a glass of whiskey in front of him.

 

  
In the three months of taking jobs from the bar, James built himself a bit of a reputation. People got used to him, got used to the fact that he liked to be left alone. He’d had a bit of trouble in the beginning, a few patrons deciding he looked like an easy target but James quickly showed them wrong.

It was easy to fall into a pattern; James would come in about once a week and pick up a card. The jobs never took more than a coupe of days and then he'd be back to collect. Weasel would hand him his payment and a whiskey and James would sit at the same table tucked away in the corner. It was a pattern of repetition and gave James a strange sense of stability, something he hadn't had in the two years he'd been running.

One night as James store into the bar, Weasel pointed to the chalk score board that sat behind the bar. The ominous words _Sister Margaret's Dead Pool_ were printed in bold lettering at the top of a score board. James had learned pretty quickly what the Dead Pool was, especially considering the disappointed groans when the man who attacked him only suffered a broken clavicle and dislocated shoulder.

"About time you got put on the board," Weasel said, a shit eating grin plastered across his face. James looked up to where _Tall, Dark, and Brooding_ had been chalked in next to a fifty dollar bet. No one knew his name. No one had ever asked and James had never volunteered that information. Three question marks fell into the column under age. James tracked his eyes over to the name in the column under ‘Player’.

_Wade._

There was the name Wade again. James knew who he was now; the red jacket guy he’d locked eyes with his first night at Sister Margaret’s had quite the reputation around the bar. He just shrugged. It really didn’t have much to do with him. It was just a bet on a chalk board. He snatched up his whiskey with a nod of thanks, retreating to the corner table that had somehow become ‘his’ and watched the bar grow busy. He didn't look up as a server dropped him off another whiskey, but he did when a second glass was set down. The small shot glass dripped melting whipped cream onto the table, a shot he’d since learned was called a blow job.

His eyes flicked up to the bar, to where Wade was lounging, eyes sharp and barely able to contain the dark glee that sparkled there. "From Rex," the server, Kelly he thought her name was, said with a tired sign. "Something about a little foreplay," she added, pointing a lazy finger to where a burly bear of a man in a leather jacket sat on the other side of the bar.

James glanced up at the _Dead Pool_ , where Rex’s name was clearly printed next to the name of the same man who'd bet on him. So that was Wade’s game. Suddenly all of the man’s shenanigans made sense, what with trying to start fights in hopes of collecting on his bets. Sloppy though, using a gambit James had already seen in action. He caught the man’s gleeful gaze, putting as much of the Soldier as he dared into that look. Surprise filled hazel eyes and he saw Wade tensed, glaring back with apprehension.

James flagged down a passing server, carefully placing the shot on her tray,. "Be a doll and give that to Finn,” he murmured, all the while keeping eye contact with the man across the bar. "Tell him it's from Wade,” he added with a wink. She smiled alluringly at him, the glint in her eye making James think of cigarette smoke and red lipstick. He watched Wade’s eyes track Kelly and the shot glass across the bar before losing her in the crowd. His eyes flicked back. James smirked as a thunderous crash followed by an animalistic roar echoed across the bar.

"WADE!"

Wade glared bloody murder at him across the bar. _‘Motherfucker,’_ he mouthed at him. James just smirked. The man opened his mouth but didn't get any further as he was suddenly and brutally slammed against the bar by a hulking brute with a massive droopy handlebar moustache. The next night when James came back, Wade was there too, sporting a split lip, a black eye, and a murderous look of revenge. After that, James developed another habit; the habit of avoiding altercations set up by Wade.

Inappropriately named shots were ordered and sent to a variety of patrons in his name or sent to him from various people. Sometimes James would find himself shoved into a table or another patron, never seeing who'd been the one to push him. Weasel didn't interfere, although he was very vocal about his sorrow over the broken bar stools and smashed glasses that always followed Wade’s setups against James.

Another week went by. Wade kept pushing and James kept not reacting, which made the merc fantastically frustrated. It was the most fun James had had in a very long time.

 

James wrenched himself awake, sweat soaking his hair and making it stick to his neck and forehead. His mouth was dry, the stench of blood caking his throat. Russian words rattled painfully around in his head as he glanced over at the clock.

Two fifteen in the morning. 

He threw himself out of bed, yanking on jeans and a hoody. He stuffed his feet in boots without bothering with socks and grabbed a jacket on the way out the door. He needed distractions, something to pull him out of his head. He needed noise and raucous and the comforting burn of alcohol. He wanted to feel something other than cold. He _needed_ to feel.

Weasel raised eyebrows as James threw himself down at the bar, squeezing against the pillar. He didn't say anything, just poured a whiskey and slide it across the bar. James downed it in one and slide it back. "Rough night?" the man asked as he refilled the glass. "You could say that," James muttered, downing the second as quickly as the first.

"Nothing like drowning your sorrows in fermented grain mash," Weasel muttered, refilling the glass once again. This time he left the bottle by James's elbow. He was more than halfway through the liquor, barely beginning to feel what could be called tipsy, when a shot glass slide out of nowhere. It bumped into his right hand, smearing whipped cream across his knuckles. He looked looked up into sharp hazel eyes.

Shit.

“Hi there,” the man said, voice smooth and velvety and more than a little mocking as he lounged against the bar. Sculpted muscles strained against the white wife-beater and James wondered fleetingly if the man had any other jacket besides this well worn red bomber with white fur trim.

“We haven’t been formally introduced. Wade Wilson,” the man said, holding out his hand. James hesitated before returning the gesture. The man’s palm was warm and rough with gun callouses. He was interested to see that while Wade’s grip was firm, he didn’t try to crush James’ hand to try and assert his dominance. “Jaime,” he lied softly. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t a lie. Jaime could easily be a nickname for James.

“Jaime,” Wade said, rolling his name slowly off his tongue. The sound did funny things to James’ chest. “So you’re the guy who bet against me in the _Dead Pool_ ,” he said blandly. The man shrugged, muscular shoulders flexing. “What can I say?” he drawled. “New guy comes in, starts grabbing up all the babysitting jobs? Gotta think he’s not gonna last.” Wade smirked, showing teeth. “Looks like I was wrong,” he drawled. There was something hot and dangerous in those hazel eyes. James know that look. Hell, he’d worn it himself, too many times to count, before the war. That was a long time ago now but James knew that look all too well.

Damn, he might be in trouble.

“So what’s a nice place like you doing in a guy like this?” the man drawled.

Damn, he _was_ in trouble.

Although perhaps, just this once, trouble would't be all that bad. This was the kind of trouble that could be fun. Something flared hot under his ribs as the man smirked again. It was a feeling James hadn’t felt in a long time. A feeling that made his breath quicken with anticipation. It was like riding a bike. James relaxed back in the bar stool, his head tilting just so as he raked his gaze lazily up the other man’s body. He watched with satisfaction as Wade’s throat rolled as he swallowed thickly. “Smooth line,” he drawled sarcastically.

“The hooker I tried it out on last week seemed to think so,” the man instantly replied. “And it worked?” James inquired, ideally spinning his whiskey glass. “No,” Wade said sadly. “We didn’t have enough in common for a one night stand. Well, besides a dishwasher box and some clown porn. Don’t ask.”

“You really like the sound of your own voice, don’t you?” James snarked, sipping down the last of his whisky.

“I do,” the man stated, nodding earnestly. “It’s very difficult to get me to shut up.”

“Impossible actually,” Weasel called out, adding his unasked-for two cents. Wade didn’t break eye contact as he flicked James’ coaster across the bar, nailing Weasel dead in the forehead. “However,” Wade murmured, leaning closer as his voice dropped an octave. “I’m willing to let you try.” James swallowed as Wade’s thigh brushed up against his knee but he kept his composer. “Well,” he drawled slowly. “You did give me a blow job.” He gracefully snatched up the shot and knocked it back in one. He wiped a smear of whipped cream from his bottom lip, feeling Wade’s eye tracking his every movement. “I guess its only polite to return the favour.” He couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips as he watched the other man’s pupils dilate.

“Fuck me,” Wade breathed.

“Gladly,” James murmured.

“Mine?”

“Lead the way.”

 

  
Wade tossed a cheeky grin over his shoulder as he fumbled with the keys to his apartment as James watched. The man had made no move to touch him on the way over beyond brushing their shoulders together every once in a while. He’d just walked with his hands in his pockets, jauntily whistling off key. The only interaction they;d had was when Wade had lit up a cigarette and offered to share it. James wasn’t sure to be relieved or worried.

With a sharp _"Aha!”_ , Wade opened the door and guided James in with a flourish. He stepped over the threshold into the brick-and-plaster walled studio apartment, looking around curiously. The kitchen sprawled out along the left wall with a ratty couch in an absolutely cringe-worthy colour of orange taking up the middle of the room. A large bed sat against the far wall, with large windows letting in light from the street lamps below.

James toed off his boots, stalling for time. It wasn’t that he’d never been with a man before. He could remember clumsy fumblings in back alleys, sneaking in through windows in the middle of the night, but all those memories were fuzzy and heavily tinged with fear. It would have been life-ending to be discovered with those kinds of inclinations back then. Not now, though.

Now everything was different.

The faintest creak of floorboards was his only warning as Wade slide smoothly in front of him. The man raised his eyebrows, proudly displaying a bottle of dirt cheap tequila. “Sure, why not,” James smirked, covering his nerves easily and following the man over to the ratty orange couch. Wade dropped down heavily, feet kicking up on the coffee table. James sat far more carefully, accepting the glass of pale gold liquid that smelled strongly like varnish remover.

“Bottoms up,” Wade said with a cheeky grin, slipping his heavy combat boots off and leaving them laying in a heap. James mimicked the other man, downing the heavy liquor in one. He managed not to cough but it was a near thing. “Dear god,” he croaked, setting his glass down on the table next to Wade’s dirty boots.

As he leaned back, he suddenly found himself with a lapful of mercenary. It happened so quickly James barely had time to blink. Damn, the man could move. Strong thighs bracketed alongside his, Wade’s hands braced on his own legs as he loomed over James. “You okay with this?” he murmured softly, surprising James with his gentle tone. Everything about the man had screamed brash and loud and someone who takes what he wants. He hadn’t expected this.

“I’m fine,” he said hurriedly.

“You seem nervous,” the mercenary pointed out.

“I’m not nervous,” James retorted sharply; a little too sharply as Wade raised his eyebrows knowingly. “It’s just…” James realized with a start that his hands had been lying limply by his sides. He deliberately placed them on the man’s thighs, fingertips brushing Wade’s. “It’s been a long time,” he said, which was a gross understatement but it wasn’t like he could just tell the man he hadn’t gotten laid in over seventy years.

“Well, we’ll just have to do something about that, won’t we?” Wade murmured wickedly as he shrugged off his jacket. Perfectly sculpted arms braced against the couch on either side of James’ head as lips lightly against his. James lips parted slightly and the man look immediate advantage. Teeth rasped against his lower lip and James moaned softly, hands tightening around Wade’s muscled thighs. The man tasted like bad tequila and cigarette smoke and he couldn't get enough. 

A sharp tugging sensation sparked across his scalp and James reacted before he’d thought it through. A low hiss of pain sizzled above him and he realized he’d grabbed Wade’s wrist with his metal hand. He could feel the man’s bones grind together under his grip, a hair away from breaking. “Owie?” Wade said in a high pitched voice.

James came back to himself with a start, releasing the man. “Sorry,” he rasped, unable to look away and the red marks that bloomed around the man’s wrist. Those would bruise for sure. “Sorry,” he whispered again, swallowing thickly. “No hair pulling, got it,” Wade said with a smirk, clearly not discouraged by the overreaction. James tensed as the man threaded his fingers through his metal ones, bringing the gloved hand up to his mouth.

He couldn’t feel the man’s mouth as he watched Wade suck two leather-covered fingers into his mouth but his breath hitched in his chest and blood in his brain made a mad dash for his groin all the same. It was fine until the man snagged the fingertips between his teeth and began pulling the glove off. “Don’t,” James growled, tugging his hand back. Wade clutched his fingers tighter, not letting him pull away fully. “Whatever’s under there won’t make a difference to me,” the man murmured. James swallowed thickly. Wade would have already felt the difference of the fingers.

If he saw it…

“Believe me, it will,” he whispered.

Wade huffed a heavy sigh and James wondered if this was when the mercenary decided he was too much work for a simple one night stand. “So kinky amputee-slash-prosthetic sex is still on my fuck-it list, no biggie,” Wade said with a shrug and then surged forward to capture James’ lips again. James didn’t have time to be surprised as the slender man ground down against him. His lips fell open with a moan, allowing Wade to deepen the kiss.

James slide his hands up the man’s thighs to grip his ass as he felt a hand cup the side of his neck and the other slithered up under his shirt. He tensed but Wade made no move to touch anywhere near his left shoulder. “Oh baby,” Wade moaned. “I’m behind on my washing, wanna give me a hand?” he teased as he scratched his nails down James’ well-defined abs.

He slide his right hand up under the mercenary’s top, settling between his shoulder blades. His breath grew ragged as Wade’s fingers traced up his sternum, lips and teeth nibbling along his jawline. He buried his face in the man's neck, inhaling the scents of gun oil and something that was almost cinnamon. Pain flared and he hissed, arms tightening around the smaller man as a thumbnail bit into his right nipple. His hips bucked up in reaction, searching for friction and finding it. “Oh yeah, I read you right. Kinky bastard,” Wade murmured as he sucked James’ lower lip into his mouth and bit down, hard.

James tasted iron and saw red.

With a growl, he slide his hands down and under Wade’s thighs. The mercenary’s hands clasped around his biceps, legs wrapping around hips as James’ stood. “So this is how Ann Darrow felt,” Wade breathed. “You calling me an animal?” James growled as he walked the man backwards towards the bed. “If the shoe fits,” the man chuckled before yelping as James unceremoniously dumped him onto the bed. “Is this the part of the movie where the dashing hero deflowers the blushing damsel?” Wade snarked, taking the moment to shrug out of his tank top. James snorted rudely. “You really never shut up, do you?” he commented, letting his eyes rove appreciatively over the man’s toned torso.

“No but I have been known to blush from time to time,” Wade retorted, looking up at James through his lashes. “You gonna leave me to service myself here or what, Jaime-boy?” he leered, grinding his hips up off the bed as he unbuttoned his jeans. “Patience is a virtue you know,” James murmured as he crawled up the bed between Wade’s legs. "Who ever said I was virtuous?" Wade retorted, grabbing him by the front of the shirt and yanking him sideways. James landed heavily on his back, feeling the mattress bounce underneath him. A breath later and the mercenary was straddling his hips with a smirk.

“So, what’s your pleasure?” Wade asked, fingers trailing down James’ stomach to tease at the waistband of his jeans. “Top? Bottom? Both? Neither?” James licked his lips nervously, his hands settling lightly on Wade’s hips. Wade hummed at his silence as he popped the top button of James’ fly. “No wrong answers here,” he murmured, popping the remaining four buttons with a smooth hook of his finger.

It was then that James decided to stop overthinking it all.

He surged up, catching the man’s lips aggressively with his own as he slide a hand down the back of Wade’s jeans. He flipped the man back over, retaking control. His right hand settled at the base of Wade’s throat as he rocked his thigh roughly between the man’s legs. Wade’s body rippled at the contact, a low groan vibrating deep in his chest. James leaned forward, hair falling forward to brush against Wade’s cheek. “How about we start with that blowjob and go from there?” he breathed in the man’s ear.

He smirked as he felt a shiver run through the smaller man.

 

James woke with a start, disorientated as he felt light hitting the right side of his face instead of the left. He blinked as the room swam into focus. It was still dark but the warm light of pre dawn was starting to glow outside the window. His eyes tracked across an ugly orange couch, across piles of clothing and various weaponry before landing on a sleeping figure lying next to him.

A sleeping, naked, male figure.

Shit.

Memories of the night before flooded into his brain, driving out the fog of sleep in an instant. He’d gone home with a stranger. He’d had a one night stand with the man who’d bet on him at the _Dead Pool._

Wade.

Wade Wilson.

That was the man who James was currently staring at. He lay on his back, sheets draped tantalizingly low on his hips. His head was angled towards James, face soft and relaxed in sleep. He slept like he hadn’t a care in the world. James couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept like that.

Shit, he hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

He hadn’t meant to stay. He hadn’t meant to let the man ply him with post-coital spooning and more bad tequila. He hadn't meant for a lot of things to happen tonight. It was too dangerous. Carefully, as quiet as only an asset trained by the Red Room could be, James slipped out of the bed and began gathering his things. He was relieved to see he still had his top and glove on, less so that he couldn’t find his underwear anywhere. He finally gave up and just rucked his jeans up over his hips the without them. He grabbed his jacket and boots, finding the knives still safely tucked away in each.

The sun was just hitting the windows by the time James had himself sorted. He risked one last look back at the sleeping man, letting his eyes roam gently over him. He lingered as long as he dared, taking a moments comfort from the other man’s calm, before quietly slipping out into the hall. He shoved his feet into his boots, shrugging on his jacket as he slipped out of the building and into the chilly morning.

 

  
Wade wasn’t there the next time he went to the bar and if he was being honest, he was a little relieved. He slide the golden card across the bar top and got a wad of cash and a glass of whiskey slide back. “So,” Weasel said, crossing his arms over his chest. “How was the sex?”

If James had been anyone else he’d have choked on his whiskey. As it was, he set it down with exaggerated care, turning to fix the man with his best Soldier stare. “What?” he said blandly. If the bartender found his glare unnerving he didn’t show it. “The sex,” Weasel said again. “With Wade. Is he a screamer? He’s a screamer isn’t he?” James felt heat flush up his neck. He remembered exactly how the man had sounded, moans low and breathy as he came apart beneath James’ touch; the way his breath caught in his throat when James angled his hips _just right._

That was all things he definitely wasn’t going to tell the bartender.

"Why don't you just sleep with him yourself, if you're so curious?” James said instead, ignoring the little nagging rush of hot jealousy at the thought of the mercenary sleeping with anyone else. That was stupid. He didn’t even know the man, he had no right to feel possessive over him. 

Weasel’s face scrunched up in a truly horrified expression. “Shut your fucking mouth,” he snapped. “Oh god, I'm never gonna get that mental picture out of my head. I hope you're happy. I’m going to have nightmares for weeks. Disgusting.” He made a show of pretending to gag loudly. “What’s disgusting?” a familiar voice asked from behind James and he froze. He managed to keep a passive expression as Wade slide into the barstool beside him. “You are,” Weasel said without skipping a beat, sliding another whiskey towards the man before moving to deal with other customers.

“Hi,” Wade said, twisting in his seat to face James. He was wearing dark jeans with rips across the knees and a dove grey t-shirt under his trademark red jacket. “Hey,” James said casually, consciously not betraying the tension he could feel building in his muscles. “You pulled a runner yesterday,” he commented, taking a sip of his whiskey. His eyes never left James’ and it made it very hard to concentrate.

“Yeah,” he replied, eyes locked on the dark purple bruises that ringed around the man's wrist, just peaking out out from his sleeve. “Sorry,” he murmured, guilt welling bitterly in his throat. Wade waved off his apology dismissively. “Don’t be, I get it,” he said as something mischievous slipped into his eyes. “However,” he drawled, reaching into his jacket pocket. James’ heart dropped into the vicinity of his boots and he felt his face flush as the mercenary pulled out a pair of black boxer briefs. “You did forget these,” Wade said wickedly, twirling the briefs around his finger.

His ears grew hot and knew was blushing. Based on the way Wade’s smirk pulled into a full blown grin he must be blushing something fierce. “Now whose the blushing damsel?” the merc teased, voice low and gravelly. “I had fun,” he continued when James didn't say anything, stepped up in between the former assassin's knees to tuck the briefs into the front pocket of his jeans. “We should do it again some time.”

He felt Wade pull away and he closed his legs against the side of the man’s thighs because _fuck it_. He hadn't felt so alive since he'd escaped HYDRA as when he was around this mouthy merc and if he was chasing that feeling a little, fuck that too. He deserved to develop a bad habit or two. Wade raised an eyebrow as James hooked a finger through one of his belt loops. “How about now?” he murmured, looking up through his lashes. The man's other eyebrow shot up, joining the first in a look of surprise. Desire and glee took over and he smirked, showing just a hint of teeth.

“I like your style, soldier,” he drawled.

James’ eye twitched.

He’d been called that name for decades, by dozens of people. That name had been used to dehumanize him. That name was what made him a weapon, to be used and abused and discarded on the will of powerful people. That name belonged to a monster, a ghost who killed without mercy from the shadows. It wasn't even a name, it was a title belonging to a faceless thing that shouldn't exist outside of nightmares and ghost stories.

Yet in the mouth of this mercenary, it took on a new meaning. It felt comforting, bringing warmth to a part of James he’d long thought dead. This time, it wasn’t the title of a monster; it was the name of a survivor. Something cold and hard inside James’ chest finally released and as he looked up into a pair of mischievous hazel eyes, he felt like he could breathe just a little bit easier.

Trouble always had a habit of finding him but perhaps, just this once, it was the kind of trouble he needed.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to continue! Right now the idea is that each chapter will be a one-shot style, however they will all follow along the same timeline and may tie back to each other in reference. Hope you enjoy!

James woke to a strange scuffling sound outside the window of his small apartment. He was out of bed in a snap, palming his handgun as he slipped back into the shadows. A shape revealed itself through the window, silhouetted against the night. A flash of silver winked in the dark as a blade slipped between the window and the sill, wiggling the lock free. A small part of James was impressed. He wasn’t rightly sure how the intruder had managed to scale the four story climb that was a straight drop into the back alley. He had picked this apartment on purpose; no gutter near his windows, no fire escape, the adjacent rooftop impossible to jump to for anyone other than a super soldier. He calmly flicked the safety off as the intruder slide the window open. He lined up his sight, breath calm, and...

“Jesus fucking christ,” James muttered as the man’s profile was illuminated by the street lamp. “Wade!” His aim didn’t waver as the mercenary grinned cheekily at him, perched on the windowsill like a car. “Morning, sunshine!” the man crowed, completely undisturbed by the fact that he had a 9mm aimed at his head. 

“I should shoot you on principle,” James grumbled as he slide the gun back under the mattress. “What are you doing here?” he asked stiffly, crossing his arms over his chest. Cold metal pressed against bare skin and he realized with a jolt that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Shit. He was in the shadows. He knew Wade couldn’t see him now but it was only a matter of time. One of them would have to move eventually. “Was in the neighbourhood, thought I’d stop by for a friendly B&E,” Wade said glibly as he dropped to the floor, stumbling slightly. “Something wrong with the stairs?” James snapped as he judged the time it would take to get to his sweater, which lay across the back of a chair on the other side of his room. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” James could practically feel the man smirk, hand reaching for what he knew was the light switch. He moved before his mind could really process that he was moving and a moment later a small knife quivered in the wall, scant hairs from Wade’s fingertips. Wade froze and James froze too. “Don’t,” he rasped. “Touchy this morning, aren’t we?” Wade said mildly, voice calm like he hadn’t almost been impaled against the wall. “You hungover or something?” James scowled. “Shut up, asshole. I’m not even dressed,” he grumbled. Wade’s teeth flashed in the dark. “Pretty sure I’ve seen all the important bits already, sweet cheeks,” he teased. Normally James didn’t let the man’s goading get to him. This morning however, so early the birds were still sleeping, he wasn’t in the mood.

“Are you scowling? You’re scowling, aren’t you? I can feel the scowliness from here.” James was indeed still scowling as he moved carefully, keeping his left side angled away from the other man’s prying eyes. He snatched up his sweater, yanking it roughly over his head. “What do you want?” he demanded again. Wade didn’t respond right away, instead yanking James’ knife from the wall. It took out a chunk of plaster with it but the fleabag apartment already had more holes than walls so James wasn’t concerned. “Oh you know,” Wade said casually, flipping the knife back and forth in his hand. “Early bird gets the worm and all that.”

“You’re stalling,” James stated. 

“Am I?” Wade said, voice pitching ever so slightly higher. James just crossed his arms and waited. He gave the mercenary his best Soldier stare, not even blinking until the smaller man finally relented. “Okay fine, Mr. Grumpy Pants,” Wade huffed, casually sending the knife spinning across the room to bury itself in the bathroom door. “I may or may not have gotten myself into a little kerfuffle and I may or may not need a place to lay low for a few hours and I may or may not have gotten a little bit shot.” James blinked, his brain needing a minute to work through the word-maze. “You got shot?!” he exclaimed, arms falling to his side. “A little bit,” the man corrected with a pointed finger. “I got a little bit shot. There’s a difference.”

“Wade,” James growled again as he strode into the bathroom to get the first aid kit. He laid it out across the kitchen counter, grabbing gauze and tape. “Ooh, yes please, Nurse Ratchet. Let’s play doctor,” Wade crooned, blatantly raking his eyes up and down James’ body. James’ jaw cracked as he ground his teeth together. This only seemed to amuse Wade even more. “Is the dark and stormy brooding because I used the word _‘kerfuffle?'_ ”  he teased.

Last straw.

“Is everything a joke to you?” James snapped harshly, slamming a bottle of iodine down onto the table with a crack. The plastic crumpled under his hand, leaving finger-shaped indents in the side of it. “Easy there, He-Man,” Wade drawled as he settled into a chair with a wince. It was the first time the man had betrayed any hint of discomfort. “What crawled up your ass and fermented to make you so sour this morning?”

“Had a bad night,” James mumbled, keeping his eyes down and his hands busy. His night had been less than pleasant, dreams plagued with echoing screams and the rusty smell of blood. He wasn’t rightly sure if the screams he had dreamed belonged to other people or himself. The fact that he couldn’t tell was unsettling. 

“Bad dreams?” Wade asked gently. The tone took James by surprise, the man’s voice soft with no trace of sarcasm or snark. James took it like that anyways. “Fuck off,” he snarled, ripping the packaging off a roll of gauze. “Aw Jaime, I didn’t—,” Wade tried. “Jacket,” James interrupted sharply. He heard Wade sigh but the man didn’t argue further as he carefully shrugged out of his jacket. James took the opportunity to turn on the lights and cursed again as the sputtering bulbs illuminated the small room. What the shadows had hid, the ugly fluorescent overheads threw into painful view. 

Wade look, in short, a mess. His eyebrow was split open, dried blood caked around his eye. His knuckles were torn and he kept a hand hovering over his ribs. “Jesus,” James murmured, fingers gentle as he turned the merc’s face to the side. “You should see the other guy,” Wade grinned, revealing bloodstained teeth. “You’re such a child,” James chastised as he pulled on gloves. “Lemme see,” he sighed, dropping down into the other chair. Wade grimaced but didn’t snark as he gingerly lifted his shirt, revealing the bloody tear that ripped across the side of his ribs.

James didn’t bother saying anything; Wade got the message by the stoney glare. “I’m barely bleeding,” the man pointed out. “Anymore,” he added, as if as an afterthought. “What happened?” James asked quietly as he pressed a handful of gauze against the wound. “Job went sour,” Wade hissed through his teeth. “Had to bail out in a hurry. Got jumped in the alley by the target’s hired muscle. Then the Avengers showed up.”

James hand went still.

“The Avengers?” he asked, wetting another bunch of gauze with iodine. “Worlds mightiest heroes,” Wade drawled, lounging back in the chair and James started cleaning the blood from the man’s face. “You know, the Jolly Green Rage Giant, Red Room Jessica Rabbit, the gigalo version of Errol Flynn, Captain Spangles, the billionaire with the Bond villain facial hair.”

James’ hands were very deliberate as they moved to clean away the blood and grime from around the wound to Wade’s side. “Captain Spangles?” he said, struggling to keep his tone neutral. Wade snorted, immediately wincing as the sharp movement jarred his injury. “Yeah, big blonde guy, muscles for days. Sweats patriotism and shits liberty,” he said through clenched teeth.

“That needs stitches,” James said flatly, pressing Wade’s own hand atop the gauze as he rooted out the needle kit. “I ever tell you I had all the Cap comics growing up?” Wade asked with a smirk as James threaded line through the needle. “I had stacks of them. Proper fanboy. Would play Captain America and Howling Commandoes with the neighbourhood kids,” the merc continued. “My favourite issue was number thirty-seven, where Captain America has to rescue Bucky Barnes from the evil clutches of Hy— _ow!”_ Wade snapped, glaring down at James. “Sit still,” James growled, pulling the needle through Wade’s shredded flesh with a little more force than strictly necessary. “Come on, you’re telling me you didn’t read the comics growing up?” Wade pushed, eyebrows raised. James shrugged, covering his growing unease. “Seriously? Not even one?” The mercenary exclaimed, clearly unbothered by the stitches James was now swiftly pulling through his skin. “What kinda fucked up kid where you?”

James’ eye twitched.

“Pa was a deadbeat alcoholic,” he mumbled, covering a massive lie with a sliver of truth. “Ma had four kids to raise. I was the oldest. Had to grow up fast.” He felt Wade’s eyes on him as he tied off the last stitch. He swallowed thickly, feeling exposed and vulnerable. He may have known the man three months, sleeping with him for two, but they never talked. Not like this.

“Never knew the walking sperm donor who spawned me,” Wade said lightly. “Stepdad was a right fuck-tard though. He was my first.” James’ eyes snapped sharply up to the merc’s and Wade chuckled nastily. “Not like that. I killed him when I was thirteen,” he elaborated. Something sad and far-away feeling filling his eyes under the humour that now felt a little forced. “How’s that for starting life out with a bucket of issues? I’m a psychologist’s wet dream.” Something about that far-away look in the man’s eyes made James uncomfortable and he busied himself with bandaging the newly stitched wound. It was a look that reminded James too much of his own face when he staggered to the bathroom after remembering something from before he fell.

“You want coffee?” he offered as he stripped off the bloodied gloves. “From here?” Wade whined, looking around the apartment with thinly veiled disgust. “This place is fucking disgusting and that’s something coming from me. No wonder you always insist on my place.”

“You want coffee or not?” James snapped as cross his arms, carefully tucking his metal hand underneath his armpit. “Yes, but not here,” the other man answered, wrinkling his nose. “I thought you needed to lay low,” he drawled. “Shit,” the merc huffed disappointedly. Something sly replaced the pained look in his eye and Wade smirked. “I’m sure we can think of something to pass the time,” he drawled with a lewd wink.

Something tightened under James’ ribs. He shook his head sharply to clear the echoes of nightmares and memories. “You got shot, in case you’ve already forgotten,” he covered, turning away to hunt for his pants. “So I’ll let you do all the work,” Wade snarked back. James just shook his head again as he rucked his jeans up over his hips, trying to hide the metal of his left hand at the same time as the slight trembling of his right. “Uh, no, no. Why are you putting clothes on?” Wade protested. “This is the opposite of what I had in mind.”

James chose to ignore the man, shoving his metal fingers into the black glove he snatched from the rickety bedside table. The action didn’t go unnoticed. He felt Wade’s eyes tracking the movement but he didn’t say anything and neither did James as he crossed back to start tidying the first aid kit. It helped to keep his hands busy.

He was doing fine. His breath was even and his heart rate was calming for the first time since Wade had crawled through his window. He was doing fine until he felt something brush up against his ankle. He froze, feeling the merc’s heavy boot slide up the inside of his leg. “Stop it,” he growled as the toe of the boot slide dangerously high up his thigh. He heard Wade huff sharply, letting his foot drop to the floor with a heavy thunk. “Is this because I got shot?” he asked impatiently. “Because I’ve told you, it was only a—,”

“Of course this is because you got fucking shot,” James snapped, clenching his hands into fists. He couldn’t tell Wade the real reason he wouldn’t…couldn’t. He couldn’t tell him that it was because the screams and the death had followed him from sleep and were still hovering just out of view; that he couldn’t let himself touch the merc because if he did, he’d leave stains.

The thin material of the kit ripped under his tense fingers and that only agitated him further. “Fuck,” he spat, lashing out with a metal fist. His knuckles hit the wall, splintering the tiles as if they were made of paper. There was no pain but the sharp cracking sound that echoed through the apartment did clear his head.

It got awfully quiet after that.

“This isn’t just because I got shot, is it?” Wade murmured gently. James swallowed, throat sore and swollen-feeling. Regardless of how imbecilic and obtuse Wade seemed on the surface, the man was actually very perceptive. James leaned against his knuckles, teeth grinding as he tried to calm his breathing. He heard a soft rustling and felt Wade move up behind him, felt the heat radiating from the other man’s body.

“Wade,” he growled warningly, trying to quell the hypersensitive prickling sensation that shivered down the back of his neck. “Jaime,” the man replied calmly, breath tickling the back of James’ neck. The silence stretched between them. It was the longest he’d ever heard the mercenary hold his tongue for. “Had a bad night,” he finally rasped, echoing his earlier words. “Okay,” Wade said simply. “I’m going to touch you now,” he continued, voice low and rough and somehow didn’t sound patronizing. “Please don’t hit me because it’d be a shame to rip those pretty stitches after you spent so much time on them.”

“Don’t—,” James began but then the man’s hand was on his shoulder; his flesh shoulder, which was the only reason the man wasn’t lying the other side of the room in a crumpled heap. James felt his jaw start to tremble as Wade slowly slide a hand down his arm. Fingers brushed across the top of his hand before curling over the top of his clenched fist.

Wade moved slowly, giving James time to pull away. Even anticipating it, he still flinched as he felt the merc’s chest press up behind him. A hand settled lightly on his left hip. A chin hooked over his right shoulder. He felt Wade’s chest expand and recede against his back and he found himself breathing in time to it. Minutes ticked by. It threw James for a loop when he finally realized that Wade had been incrementally slowing his breathing, ever since he realized James was synchronizing with him.

Finally James shifted away from Wade, hand tugging against the gentle hold on his hand. The mercenary stepped back without a fuss. James scrubbed a hand over his eyes as he put some distance between them. “You still want that coffee?” he asked gruffly, feeling twitchy with embarrassment. He could feel Wade’s eyes on him. He kept his hands busy as he pulled out mugs and filters from one of the cupboards. “I might actually have a quick catnap if that’s okay,” Wade said. There was something in the man’s voice that had James’ eyes whipping over to him. The man’s calm and collected expression gave nothing away. “Running for my life really takes it outta me,” he said, yawning theatrically.

James shrugged, turning to spoon coffee grounds into the filter. He tracked the sounds of the other man as he crossed the room, kicked off his boots, and lay down on the squeaky bed. A soft clattering indicated the man was unloading whatever arsenal he still had on his body. It was another sign of the apparent trust Wade seemed to have in him. James was certain he’d done nothing to deserve it.

He glanced over his shoulder. Wade was laid out on his back, hand resting just below the bandage on his abdomen. His eyes were closed, chest rising and falling softly. He looked so peaceful and James found he couldn’t look away. After a moment, Wade’s lips twitched. “You’re staring,” he drawled. James felt his cheeks flush hot. Wade’s smile widened, as if he knew he’d made James blush even though his eyes were closed.

James busied himself around the kitchen for a while before moving to the window to stare out into the back alley. What had been a clear night had quickly clouded over and the first raindrops began splattering against the windowpane. James burned through three cups of coffee, casting a look every now and again across to the sleeping man. It felt comfortable, domestic, like a daydream from another life.

He shook himself mentally, shivering as the temperature outside dropped and the room grew colder. He threw a glance back towards the bed, where the other man lay in nothing but jeans and a grimy wife-beater. He crossed the room, dragging the abandoned comforter back onto the bed and up over the mercenary. His eyes slide up the man’s chest and latched onto a pair of hazel eyes looking very much awake. “Didn’t mean to wake you,” James murmured, moving away. “ ’S okay,” Wade murmured with a yawn. “It’s cold though,” he whined, pulling a small smile from James. “That’s why I covered you with the blanket, dumbass.” Wade huffed, glaring at him over the coverlet. “Not enough,” he retorted. “Get in here.”

James froze.

“You’re like a fuckin’ portable space heater that won’t electrocute you in your sleep,” the mercenary drawled, making grabby hands in James’ direction. “Come on,” he added in a whinging voice when James still didn’t move. “Daddy needs his snuggles.” The former assassin swallowed thickly, stalling for times. “What is it?” Wade asked, somehow managing to make the words not seem aggressive or exasperated. “I…,” James stalled, licking his lips nervously. “I get nightmares,” he finally confessed in a small voice.

“You’ve never had a problem before,” Wade pointed out, referring to the times that James had stayed over in the last few months. “I never fell asleep before,” James confessed, conveniently forgetting about the first time he’d shared the man’s bed and had the best sleep he’d had since before he fell from that train. In truth, since the beginning of the war. “You’ll be fine,” Wade countered immediately. “Pweeese,” he added in a childish voice. James huffed, shaking his head at the man’s antics but in the end he relented. “Yuuussss,” the merc crowed as James stepped out of his jeans. “Shove over,” the former assassin chided, gently prodding at Wade’s shoulder.

After a little careful maneuvering, James found himself propped up against the wall with Wade tucked against his right side with the man’s head pillowed on his chest. “Much better,” Wade murmured wickedly, eyes already falling shut. James just chuckled, snatching up the book he’d stollen from a woman’s pocket the day before. He found himself scratching his fingertips through Wade’s hair, prompting soft humming noises of contentment from the smaller man.

The night wore on. James got halfway through the book before he began losing interest. He felt a little drowsy, having been sleeping so poorly of late. Wade was still out cold where he lay snug up beside him and James was loath to disturb him. It was actually very peaceful, lying here just listening to the man’s gentle breaths. James closed his eyes, falling into a familiar pattern of slow breathing. It was a sniper technique, a sort of meditation and surely something that wouldn't cause him to fall asleep.

 

 

   
_Ice coated his throat and froze his lungs, making breathing painful and practically impossible. His muscles trembled. Frost clung to his eyelashes, dripping down behind his eyeballs. Everything hurt, like a fire burning him from the inside out._

_It never made any sense, how something so cold could burn so hot._

_Needle points of pain stabbed at his body, sending molten metal coursing through his veins. He screamed, tissues in his throat tearing open with the force of the sound._

_It was inside him, clawing like a wild animal._

_Breaking his bones; carving him into something else, something awful._

_He was being ripped apart sliver by sliver until there was nothing left but a shadow; an echoing reminder of what he’d lost._

_“You are a gift to mankind.”_

_The words burned like a brand on the inside of his skull, reassuring and taunting and comforting and torturing all at the same time. He wanted to believe them. He wanted to so badly and he was lesser for it._

_A hand touched his cheek, soft and reassuring and so unlike the slap that had cracked across it mere moments ago. He shivered into it, expecting pain and receiving none._

_Then there were more. So many hands; holding, pulling, tearing, pinning._

_Heavy straps held down his arms and legs._

_Cold metal pressed painfully against his face._

_Someone was screaming._

 

  
“JAIME!”

He came back to himself with a gasp, the room snapping into sharp focus. Slowly, sounds and sights bled through the haze. The sun was just cresting the building opposite, throwing pale light across the floor. A soft hum of traffic could be heard as the city below began to wake up.

James stood frozen, eyes rolling as his chest heaved and he stared into a par of wide hazel eyes. The first thing he saw were those eyes. The second thing he saw was the blood that dripped from the man’s nose and mouth, the bruise that was beginning to bloom across his cheekbone, the dark shadows that ringed around his throat….

He threw himself backwards, connecting hard with the nearby wall. He tore his eyes away from the man in front of him, taking in the damage with growing horror. The bedside lamp was smashed, the bed covers in disarray. A fist size hole had been punched into the wall above the bed and the book he’d been reading lay in tatters. It was then he noticed that Wade had James’ Bowie knife in his hand, in a defensive reverse grip. A sharp stinging sensation prickled along his forearm and he glanced down in shock to see the thin bloody line that traced the same path as his torn sleeve.

“You back with me, big guy?” Wade murmured, voice soft and careful.

James didn’t trust his voice. Something in his face must have shifted because the tension bled out from Wade’s shoulders. “Oh good,” he sighed, tossing the knife into the sink with a clatter. Stupid, a part of James’ mind spat, to turn his back on the Asset. He blinked, flinching physically away from the thought that wasn’t really his. “You gave me a right good scare there,” the mercenary continued, voice scratchy and hoarse sounding while his steps were taken gingerly. The side of Wade’s top was well-soaked with blood. He’d torn his stitches defending himself from…. James wrenched his eyes away from the though and turned to the door. He didn’t even stop to grab his boots or his pants. He had to run. He had to get away. He had to—

“Whoah, easy,” Wade cautioned as he quickly stepped between James and the door. Another stupid choice. James wondered fleetingly, and not for the first time, if the man was truly stupid or just had a death wish. “Not gonna just let you run off in nothing but your drawers,” he drawled, a lopsided smirk attempting to bring humour back into the apartment.

James’ breath stuttered in his chest. He could feel the walls pressing in on him from either side. Phantom bands clamped around his wrists, his biceps, pulling him down and holding him tight. Another restraint wrapped around his chest, stopping him from breathing properly. The pain would come next, followed by the ice.

 _I don’t want to forget,_ James whispered but the words got stuck behind his teeth and his mouth just opened and closed uselessly. Wade raised an eyebrow, holding out a cautious hand. “Easy,” he murmured again, taking a cautious step froward. James matched him backwards, causing Wade to pull up short. “Okay, respecting the bubble. No problem,” he said lightly. “Mind if I sit down though because I feel if I don’t, I’m gonna end up on the floor.”

Even as Wade said those words his knees buckled and he crumpled to the ground. James was at his side in an instant, catching the wounded merc even before his knees hit the ground. “Works every time,” Wade crowed softly as James helped him over to the couch. “Think you’ll have to work your needle-point magic again,” he added, peeling up his shirt and wincing at what he saw underneath. “Yep, I made a right mess of it, that’s for sure.”

James swallowed thickly, his eyes rooted to a spot just past Wade’s shoulder. Fraying orange threads were stretched to their limit, beginning to reveal the stuffing inside. His hands clenched against themselves as his muscle locked up. “Hey, look at me,” Wade was saying but James wasn’t hearing him. A roaring rush filled his ears, swamping over everything. He’d done this. He’d nearly killed the man. He hadn’t left the Soldier behind in the Potomac. He couldn’t change. He was and always would be _this_ ; the monster that lived in the shadows and did nothing but cause pain.

“Eyes on me, soldier!”

James’ ice blue eyes snapped over to Wade’s, unable to resist the barked order. Hazel eyes gazed back at him, so incredibly soft and painfully understanding. “It’s okay,” Wade murmured. “It’s not your fault. You warned me about your nightmares and I should have listened. Lesson learned; no more sleepovers that involve actual sleep. Only sexy sleepovers, with lingerie and questionably flavoured condoms.”

At any other time James would be furious at Wade for taking this so flippantly. Later, he probably would be mad. He’d probably cuss the merc out for being so reckless and stupid. He’d try to leave and Wade would somehow convince him to stay. They’d been through that dance before. It had just never been this bad. Maybe there wasn’t going to be a ‘ _later_ ’ this time.

“Why?” James croaked.

“You gotta give me more then that, hot stuff,” Wade teased easily. So many things came easy to Wade, how he just shrugged off things like water from oiled canvas. It reminded James of someone else; someone he used to be a lifetime ago. “I could have killed you,” James croaked, jaw muscles tense and twitching. “Please,” Wade snorted arrogantly. “You got a couple good hits in, that’s all. You’re good, handsome, but so am I.”

“I could have killed you,” James repeated, pitching his voice into a low dangerous growl. He felt Wade pause, give him a sliver more of his attention. James swallowed the painful spike that had lodged in his throat. “So why are you still here?” he said, voice tight and forced. Wade paused, giving him a long calculating look. The silence stretch, broken only by the quiet hum of traffic down below the window. Finally Wade sighed, scratching a hand through his hair.

“Fuck if I know,” he huffed. James froze, staring down in disbelief at the smaller man.

“Honestly, I have no idea,” Wade continued. “You’re dangerous. Like Ghost Protocol Black Ops level dangerous. Like kill me with a teaspoon dangerous, not to mention severely traumatized. You’re fucking unstable. Worst case of PTSD I’ve ever seen and I’ve seen some shit. Clearly you’re getting zero help dealing for your issues, as indicated by the fact that you just tried to crush my larynx with your bare hands.”

Here Wade paused. James forced himself to inhale, although it felt like breathing sand. His muscles were locked up and he couldn’t move. He couldn’t even think. The man’s words battered against him like hail, crushing the breath from his lungs. He didn’t know what he was supposed to feel in this situation so he tried not to feel anything. A small part of his brain vaguely wondered if this was what Steve had felt like when his plane had nosedived into the ice.

“And yet,” Wade continued. “I’m still here.”

James’ gaze flicked up to meet Wade’s, eyes wide with disbelief and tinged with, dare he think it, hope. “I don’t know, maybe I do have a death wish,” Wade said with a small smile, as if he had read James’ mind earlier. “All I know is when I look at you, I just see a man whose been through some tough shit but is still breathin’.” James jaw trembled as his eyes began to burn. Wade’s eyes softened somehow even further and he carefully leaned forward. Slowly, ever so slowly, he reached out a hand. He moved like molasses, giving the former assassin plenty of time to avoid the contact. He stood stalk still, terrified to even breathe as Wade gently brushed his fingers along the back of James’ hand.

“We’re all fighting to keep breathin’,” he murmured. “Some of us just have to fight a little harder.”

James swallowed thickly, a movement that felt like gargling glass. “Poetic,” he rasped, blinking back against the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks. “You read that on a Hallmark card or somethin’?” He felt more than heard Wade’s chuckle, a soothing vibration that rippled across the space between them. “Cereal box,” the man murmured. “Makes sense,” James replied, vice still in a hoarse whisper. “You have an unhealthy obsession with the stuff.”

“It’s not just for breakfast anymore,” Wade said in a rough singsong voice as he sat back against the couch. “On a more serious note though,” he added, looking down at his bare and bloody chest with a grimace. “I really do need another set of stitches. And I think you may have also broken my nose.” James sobered up with a painful snap. His eyes traced the blood stains that dripped down the mans face, that slithered under his chin and across the ghosting bruises that were getting worse by the minute, over the bloodstained gauze on the man’s abdomen.

“Fuck,” he groaned, dropping to a knee between Wade’s legs. “Wade, I…, fuck, I didn’t…I don’t…I…,” he stammered, horror building back up under his lungs. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the bloodstained shirt, from the ring of bruises that had darkened even in the last few minutes. A slap cracked across the side of his head, ruffling his hair. The blow was gentle enough not to hurt but sharp enough to snap him out of the growing swirl of panic that had threatened to swamp him.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Wade snarled softly, drawing out every syllable in slow over-annunciated diction. “We just went over this. And if it didn’t get through your thick skull the first time, I’ll say it again in simpler terms.” Wade leaned forward again, forcing James to meet his eyes. “I. Am. Fine,” he stated with exaggerated patiently. “I’ve been through worse and it’ll take a hell of a lot worse to scare me off.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “And that definitely wasn’t the challenge it sounded like.”

James didn’t trust his voice so he just nodded. His eyes burned something awful and Wade’s face danced and swam. His jaw trembled as he felt a light touch on his shoulder and couldn’t stop the tears from overflowing. “Hey now, none of that,” Wade chided gently, thumb reaching up to carefully swipe away the moisture. He gently pulled James forward, pressing his forehead against his own. James closed his eyes and they just breathed. They breathed until James was calm, heartbeat slow and steady underneath his sternum.

Not for the first time James was blindsided by how incredibly intuitive Wade was. The mercenary seemed to always have the right words, the right actions, to steady James. He didn’t question the weird quirks, didn’t judge the freak outs. He understood, even in some small way. James had never had someone tell it to him so plainly, so straight forward. Wade easily called him on his bullshit and never pushed him too far. Behind the snarky words and arrogant attitude, the mercenary was an incredibly gentle man. James suspected that it was a side that few people knew existed and he felt a thrum of awe that the man had trusted him of all people with that side.

“Now,” Wade said eventually, pulling away just enough to meet James’ eye. “I have a very important question. Have you ever actually killed anyone with a teaspoon?” James snorted at the absurdity of it. “No,” he replied wetly, scrubbing his nose with his sleeve. He paused, really thinking about it.

“It was a pencil.”

Something bright and excited snapped into Wade’s eyes. “You full on Joker’ed a guy? Like Heath Ledger style? You are my fucking hero!” he crowed, closing the short distance between them to smash his lips against James’ in a quick yet ferocious kiss.

“Now,” he said, pulling away and leaving James’ head reeling. “I’m starting to feel a little dizzy. Probably because of the blood loss.” James’ hands latched onto Wade’s elbows as the man sagged a little to one side, eyes going wide in alarm. “How about you tell me the story of how you went full Dark Knight on some poor bastard while you use me for cross-stitch practice again?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is my fairy dust! I'm having fun with this pairing so lemme know if you are having fun reading it! xoxo


	3. Chapter 3

James used to love the rain, back when he had been Bucky. He’d used to bundle Steve up so he wouldn't catch cold and they’d sit out on the back stairs and watch the lightning play over the rooftops. When Bucky went to war, he learned to hate the rain. It got everywhere; sneaking through seams and down collars to soak from the inside out. He learned to hate the way it dripped down the back of his neck, off his nose, clinging to his hair and eyelashes.

Then HYDRA happened and Bucky died. The man that was left behind forgot what he hated and what he loved and for a long time he just drifted in a haze of indifference. The Asset hadn’t been allowed opinions and if an op had him perched out on a rooftop in the pouring rain for hours on end, he couldn’t remember feeling any particular way about it besides cold. All those memories just felt cold.

When the Asset tried to kill Steve Rogers, when the blonde man had spoken a name that smelled like sweet rain and thunderstorms, he began to remember and the Asset changed. He wasn’t Bucky anymore, couldn’t be Bucky again, but he wasn’t the Asset either. So he became James, partially from the vague memory of a woman’s voice calling him that with a warm smile but mostly because the museum installation said that was his name.

James had trouble forming opinions for himself. After decades of not being allowed to make any decisions for himself, it made him feel uncomfortable. He, like the Asset, didn’t have any opinion on the rain.

Then James met Wade Wilson.

Wade was a crazy whirlwind of a storm that swept James off his feet just by being in the mere vicinity of him. That sharp mind and wicked humour were only matched by the incredibly lethal set of skills the man wielded. He moved through life with a carefree ease that James envied. Nothing seemed to phase him, not even when he’d woken up with James’ hands at his throat because of the nightmares that danced behind the former asset’s eyes. He was so very breakable compared to James and yet he’d never met anyone so strong.

And he was kind.

For all he hid it behind snarky insults and a cruel profession, Wade was kind. It showed through in the little things. The way he could read James’ moods and know when not to push him. The way he’d watch his back through crowds or the way he always gave James the seat with the best sight lines when out at the bar. The way Wade respected James’ boundaries in regards to the ‘mysterious prosthetic arm’ that even after five months he still hadn’t seen or touched unless on top of clothing.

Sometimes they’d get together and not even have sex. Like the time James sat on that horrific orange couch and tried to catch up on the last seventy years of daytime television while Wade cleaned his M40 on the kitchen table, or all the times James insisted on cooking dinner because he couldn’t stand allowing Wade to eat another fucking pizza and Wade would sit on the kitchen island and bitch at James that his dietary habits were perfectly acceptable.

Fuck, he was so far gone but James knew he couldn’t let his heart run away from him. What they had was casual, convenient, and that was it. Wade didn’t want anything more than a simple lay and James could handle that. James could handle no strings.

Until that night.

James sat on the couch with a book in hand and Wade sprawled out across his lap, snoring loudly. He never ceased to be amazed at how the man was able to relax so fully around him. His right hand sat stiffly on the couch arm, fingers gripping into the fabric because they were itching to card themselves through Wade’s short-shorn hair. He was definitely having a difficult time focusing on his book.

A sharp crack of thunder had James freezing against the couch cushions with his muscles locking up as Wade startling awake in his lap. “Wazzit?” Wade slurred, flailing and knocking his head on James’ metal elbow as he sat up. “Nothing,” James murmured as he forced his body to relax. Another sudden crack of thunder had a tremor-like flinch racing through his muscles. If Wade noticed, he didn’t show it. Instead an almost child-like look of glee lite up his face.

“Come on,” he said excitedly, and James found himself bodily up off the couch. A jacket was shoved in his face, boots dropped by his feet, and before James had a chance to really process what was happening, Wade was shoving him up onto the roof in the middle of a cloudburst. “The fuck, Wilson?” he growled. Wade just grinned, turning his face up into the downpour. The heavy rain soaked James’ hair flat against his neck and slithered down the back of his leather jacket.

This is why Bucky had hated the rain.

This chilling feeling that soaked down to the core. Even if his body ran hotter now, registered the discomfort less, or at least compartmentalized it better, he still didn’t like it. It brought back uncomfortable memories, feelings of guilt and hunger, and a bone deep terror that he didn’t know how to deal with. Wade said nothing, just stared out across the grey New York skyline. There was something warm in his eyes that made James’ chest tighten, but the rain was dripping off his nose in a way that had him seeing the harsh silhouettes of German tanks horrifying against the fog-thick tree line.

Only Wade’s iron grip around his right wrist kept him from fleeing back into the dry shelter of the apartment. “Wade,” he grumbled, pulling back against the other man’s hold. “Just come here,” the hitman smirked, dragging him over to the edge of the roof. They were now both thoroughly soaked and James was starting to get pissy. “Stop glowering and come here,” Wade groaned, shoving James against the railing and crowding up behind him. The man’s warm body pressed up behind him, hands gripping the railing in front of them. The wet metal rungs soaked a line across the bottom of James’ jacket, another strip through his jeans. “Will you—.”

“Just watch,” Wade murmured behind his ear. Even as he spoke there was a flash of light as spiderwebbed lightening crackled across the grey skyline above the buildings across from them. A half breath later and thunder roared right above their heads. The rumble dispersed across the city and it was barely a minute before the next crackle of blinding light raced across the stormy sky.

It was beautiful and terrifying and had him seeing the hazy skyline of the Brooklyn harbour. He took a deep shaky breath, inhaling the tangy scent of the storm, the sweeter undertones of the rain.

This was why Bucky had loved the rain.

And when he felt a warm breath ghost the side of his neck as Wade tucked his chin over his shoulder, felt a hand settle firmly on the arch of his hip, he realized that James had fallen in love with the rain too. So he did what he thought was best.

He ran.

He waited until it was late, when Wade was fast asleep on the couch because they had figured out the fix for balancing sleepovers and the nightmares that had James lashing out if there was someone sleeping next to him. He always argued when Wade took the couch but never won.

It wasn’t raining anymore when he slipped out into the back alley, hood pulled up over his still damp curls. It was midweek and late, not many people were out. A sudden prickling feeling raced up his neck and his awareness snapped into hyperdrive. He knew he’d stayed in one place too long. He’d gotten complacent, gotten comfortable.

Comfortable was just another word for sloppy.

They took him four blocks from the apartment. He saw the man tailing him, saw the other three milling on the corner in front of him, saw the van parked discreetly on the corner so he ducked into an alleyway. Clearly in hindsight, they were corralling him. He took eight of them down as easily as most people breathe. Then a man shouted at him, words harsh and guttural, and his muscles locked up and he fell to his knees. His mind was screaming at him, just move damnit, move.

But he couldn’t move.

He couldn’t move as a dozen burly men surrounded him, guns trained on his head. He couldn’t move as one stepped forward, movements tense and scared as he snapped a cuff on his metal wrist and the whole arm went dead. He couldn’t move as they cuffed his other wrist to the limp arm with a heavy duty magnetized cuff. He couldn’t do anything but watch as they threw him into the back of the van. A needle stabbed deep into his neck and then everything went fuzzy.

 

 

He woke up strapped to a chair. His left arm was still dead and his head hurt like a mother fucker. He jerked, muscles spasming clumsily as he struggled. He could barely move and realized that his ankles and wrists were strapped down tight. His head too. Something was strapped across his forehead. It took him longer than it should have to realize that he was not strapped to a chair.

He was strapped to _the_ chair.

He thrashed like a wild animal but nothing he did loosened any of the restraints. He finally relaxed back against the cruel metal, chest heaving. “Finished with the temper tantrum?” a nasally voice asked from somewhere behind him. James froze. He knew that voice. “Good,” the man said as he rounded into James’ peripheral vision. The man was tall, dark hair slicked back from his face and thick glasses perched on his nose. His scrambled memories identified him as the head of his tech team in New York.

“Took us a long time to find you,” he said mildly as the rest of the team filed in, flanked by armed men in black tac gear. “We never suspected that you’d ever stay local. Who would have thought we’d find you slumming it in Manhattan as a cheap hitman for hire. Guess you can’t teach old dogs new tricks huh?”

The man stepped closer and James lunged forward against the restraints, teeth bared as a snarl ripped from deep within his chest. The man barely blinked even as the techs flinched back and the guards raised their weapons with a snap. “You know I had a dog growing up,” the man said, tone conversational like they were friends talking over coffee. “A golden retriever, loyal to a fault. He was bit by a raccoon when I was six, got rabies. So my dad took him out behind the barn and shot him.” A pinch on his right arm and James flicked his eyes down to see the man drawing his blood out into a small vile.

“Now if it were up to me,” the man said, leaning in close, so close that James had no choice but to meet hims cold, clinical eyes. “I’d put you down with a bullet between your eyes, just like a dog. You’re a rabid animal and I’m not looking to get bit.”

James covered the growing panic in his chest by baring his teeth in a silent snarl but it did nothing to ruffle the man’s calm demeanour. If anything he looked smug, like James had just proved his point. However,” he continued, yanking the needle from James’ arm sharply. “That decision is not up to me.” Now the man smiled, something sickly and dark in his eyes. “I’m just the guy who gets to put your brain back in the blender.”

A harsh roaring filled James’ ears as white washed over his vision. Pain bit into his right wrist as a metallic ripping noise echoed through the room. James snapped the headband off and had a grip on the tech’s throat before the guards could even move on him.

Hands wrapped around his arm, tugging uselessly. Stun batons were jammed up against his ribs, volts of electricity crackling through his nerve endings. One of the guards cracked the butt of his gun across his face. Another hammered a baton down against his abdomen, making his ribs creak. James barely noticed. He was too busy staring at the man who was scrabbling panicking at his hand, eyes bulging.

A needle jabbed once again into his neck, causing his muscles relax but he didn’t let go until he felt the man’s trachea snap under his fingers. They slammed him back against the chair, two men twisting his right arm cruelly behind the metal back. Another grabbed his hair, slamming his head back and holding it there. He went full rag doll, lolling limply against the men’s cruel grips. “He’s dead. He’s dead!” one of the other tech’s cried in a panicked breathy voice.

Good, James thought.

“Fuck,” the guard to his right spat. James just laughed, a broken chuckle from deep in his chest. All that earned him was a rifle being cracked across his jaw. James’ head whipped to the side and stayed there as the drugs took full hold over his body. He could feel the blood trickle from the side of his mouth.

Alarms blared out, red lights flashing in their sudden panic. “Now what?” the same flighty tech squeaked, glancing around wildly. “Knock it out,” the lead guard said. James had to hand it to him, he looked calm. His eyes gave him away though, the way they darted around, and the way his fingers kept twitching nervously against his rifle. “But we have nothing on hand that’ll keep it under for more than a few minutes and I don’t know what—,” the tech stuttered.

A distant booming crack made the floor vibrate. “Knock it out now!” the man roared as he took off out of the room. A sharp prick on his flesh arm and ice was sent streaking up his veins. James’ eyes blurred and tried to fight it but the other drugs kept him immobile and it made it harder to resist. His eyes fluttered shut as the familiar sound of gunfire rattled through his ears.

 

  
When James woke up again, he was lying on the ground which was surprising. He clawed his way back into consciousness slowly, blinking the sedation from his eyes. The first thing he saw was the floor. It was covered in blood. In fact, it was everywhere, splattered on the walls, on that damned chair, even the ceiling. How the hell did it get on the ceiling? And where were the bodies? The room was empty, even of the tech that he’d killed himself.

He tried to sit up and found that he couldn’t. The first drug was still lingering in his system, making his coordination sloppy, muscle control practically none existence. He flinched as a panicked whine slipped past his lips. A soothing shush reached his ears. Something carded gently through his hair. That’s when James realized that his head was pillowed on something softer than the cement floor of the lab.

“Shhh, I got you. You’re okay, I got you,” a deep male voice rumbled above and behind him. Fingers. It was fingers that were carding through his hair. He could feel the nails scratching gently against his skull. Another hand was resting on his bicep, a firm grounding touch. James’ legs kicked out spastically and he managed to roll himself onto his back.

He blinked up at short blood-spattered blonde hair, at high blood-spattered cheekbones, at blood-spattered white wool that lined the dark red bomber jacket. “Wade?” he slurred, the name sliding off his tongue at the wrong angle. “What’s up, buttercup?” the man said with his trademark smirk. He used bloodied fingers to brush James’ long hair back from his forehead. James’ frowned, blinking up at the other man in confusion.

“Got worried when you pulled a Cinderella at midnight,” Wade explained. “Hasn’t been your style for a while so I went looking. Found your backpack in the alley so I had a guy hack the traffic camera. I tracked the van, killed all the bad guys, rescued the blushing damsel.” Another sly smirk had James’ chest tightening. Wade’s fingers were still carding through his hair and it was far too comforting. “Got yourself into a bit of a mess here, huh handsome?”

James’ jaw muscles twitched. The tightness in his chest snuck up into his throat and his eyes began to blur. Something shifted in Wade’s eyes and he reached across James slowly and deliberately. James didn’t know what the man was doing until he felt a light pull at his left shoulder.

He flinched, a noise of protest grunting in his throat but the drugs were still circulating and the metal arm was still dead with the cuff wrapped around his wrist so he couldn’t stop Wade from lifting it up. “Couldn’t figure out how to get this off,” Wade said, tapping the cuff with a finger. “Those HYDRA assholes are some kinky bastards, I’ll give ‘em that.” James swallowed thickly, unable to quite meet the other man’s eye. Instead he stared down at the dead limb, at the overlapping silver plates. That's when he caught sight of his other hand, fingers sheathed in blood like a child loose in a paint store.

He must have ripped that man’s throat out without even realizing it.

God, he didn’t want this. He didn’t want Wade to know what kind of monster he was. He had tried so hard and now everything was ruined. He forgot how to breathe as he watched a bloodied hand gripped the stiff metal fingers tighter. “This,” Wade said, in that soft steady voice that he seemed to only reserve for when he was talking to James about something serious. “Doesn’t change shit.”

Now James’ eyes were really blurring and he ground his molars together to try and keep himself under control. Wade seemed to know he was struggling, as he always did. A gentle shift underneath him had James rolling over onto his right side. An arm wrapped around his metal shoulder, a hand cupped the back of his head, and Wade just held him. He held him for a long time, in the middle of a blood stained lab, and it shouldn't have been so perfect, but it was.

James could feel his motor control returning and he flexed his fingers in the space between their bodies. “You really killed them all?” he asked, hating how small his voice sounded. “Yeah,” Wade murmured, his other hand coming up to grip the back of James’ neck.

“Yeah baby, I killed them all.”

 

 

  
Wade didn’t say anything as he unlocked the cuff and helped James out of the compound. He didn’t say anything as they drove back to Manhattan and back to Wade’s apartment. He didn’t say anything when he bundled James into a hot shower and followed in after him.

James didn’t say anything either. He didn’t look up from the carpeted floor of the truck that Wade had stole to get them back into the city. He didn’t look up from the stairs as Wade led him up into the apartment, and he didn’t look up from the tile floor of the shower when he felt the hit man slide in behind him. He couldn’t stop the hard flinch that shuddered through his body as he felt the heat radiating from the other man’s body.

“My name isn’t Jaime,” he whispered.

“I know,” Wade murmured, his breath hot against James’ shoulder blade. A hand ghosted down his side and he shivered despite the heat from the water coursing down his chest. Lips mouthed at the base of his neck. Then he felt a numb touch along the ridge of scar tissue that traced the joining of metal and flesh.

Within a breath, he had Wade pinned against the tile wall with his metal hand around the man’s throat. His breath was harsh in his chest, fight-or-flight instinct fighting hard. The Asset was under his skin, just clawing to get out. It itched inside him, the Russian trigger control code rattling in his head. Wade to his credit didn’t fight back. He went loose and boneless, arms hanging by his side. James clenched his molars together as the plates in the arm whirred angrily.

“It doesn’t scare me,” Wade said softly, throat rolling as he swallowed. “It should,” James ground out. “Well, I’ve never been good at doing what I’m told,” Wade said, smirking. “In fact, I usually do the opposite.” James felt a touch on his hipbone, dangerously low. “Don’t,” he rasped. “You don’t…You don’t know what I’ve…,”

“Why’d you run?” Wade interrupted, eyes sharp. “You wanna run right now, I can see it in your eyes. So spill, Robocop.”

James dropped Wade’s throat like it burned him and should have been out of the bathroom before Wade could blink but a hand wrapped itself around his bicep and yanked him back. James didn’t think, he just reacted and then an echoing crack snapped through the room. He froze, staring at his metal fist where it was buried through the tile mere inches from Wade’s head. “Now that was hot,” Wade murmured, a genuine smile playing on his lips. “But still doesn't answer my question.”

“You’re insane,” James choked out. “And now you sound like my mother,” Wade retorted. “I’m dangerous,” he spat. “So am I,” the man replied calmly. “Not like me,” he whispered harshly. “You don’t know what I’ve done. The people I’ve…I…I’m not—.” His fist clenched, sending a small shower of tile dust into Wade’s hair. “Breathe handsome, you’re turning blue,” the man advised. “Is everything a joke to you?” James snapped.

“Not you,” was the reply that had James pulling up short, surprise making him finally meet the other man’s eyes. Wade’s gaze was steady and stern and he stared back calmly. “Now,” Wade continued. “You gonna answer my question or naw?” James swallowed thickly, jaw trembling.

“I…,” was all that James could get out before his chest got so tight he couldn’t force the words up his throat. Wade waited a long time but James didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. He finally sighed, reaching past James to turn off the shower. “You wanna run, I’m not gonna stop you,” he said softly. “But know that I want you to stay.”

James stood in the empty shower for a long time. Long enough for the water to dry from his skin and the hairs on his arm to rise due to the chill. He took his time getting dressed, not even aware that he was pulling on a pair of Wade’s until they were on and sat just a little too tight around the thighs.

He peaked through the wooden beams of the bathroom wall where the drywall was missing and watched Wade putter around the kitchen. There were egg shells scattered brokenly across the kitchen counter and an open bag of bread and a smoking pan on the stove top. The man was in James’ sweatpants, he could tell by the way the hung just a little too low on the hips. A black t-shirt hugged his biceps snuggly and he was whistling softly while dipping bread in a bowl of milky eggs.

That’s when James realized that the book on the kitchen island behind Wade was his. The two of the six pairs of shoes by the door were his. His high powered rifle had been cleaned at some point in the last two days by hands other than his own was hung on the hooks that had magically appeared on the wall a month ago. There were two toothbrushes by the sink behind him and two razors in the shower. There was a bag of hair ties on the bedside table and when Wade turned to reach for more bread, James saw two more around Wade’s wrist. The man with hardly any hair wore hair ties around his wrist in case James needed one.

This was the man who stared down the shadow of the Asset and hadn’t even flinched. This was the man that could calm him down from a nightmare or a panic attack. This was the man who James would bet on could keep up with him in a fight, who didn’t take life seriously in a way unlike anyone he’d ever known.This was the man who couldn’t cook for shit, who ate cereal straight from the box, and always forgot where he put his switchblades.

The sun was just beginning to crest the adjacent buildings, throwing warm light across the kitchen and Wade alike. It was dawn, and neither of them had slept all night, and the side of his face ached from where that gun tried to rearrange it, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. That’s when James realized he hadn’t fallen in love with the rain.

He’d fallen in love with the storm.

“Jesus,” he muttered as he hip checked Wade out of the way, swooping in before he ruined another piece of bread. “You’re absolutely useless,” he added, dumping out the egg mix and starting afresh. He felt Wade hovering behind him as he cracked eggs and poured milk, sprinkling cinnamon and nutmeg and brown sugar. He tossed the pan blindly into the sink, hearing a harsh sizzling as it hit the water.

He grabbed a new pan and within a few minutes he was setting a stack of golden french toast next to Wade’s hip where he was perched on the kitchen island. “Smells good,” Wade murmured, brushing his foot against the outside of James’ knee. “So you’re still here,” he added. “Wanna tell me why?”

James swallowed, staring down at where his hands rested against the rough grained wood. Making decisions for himself didn’t come naturally anymore. Taking what he wanted didn’t come naturally anymore; wanting anything for himself didn’t come naturally anymore. He took a step to the side, slotting himself in between Wade’s knees. He forced himself to place his hand, his metal hand, lightly on Wade’s hip. He’d learned to be careful with it. He’d had to be, had probably had it beaten into him, but he’d never learned to be gentle with it. Not before this. He reached up his other hand and lightly snapped the elastic around the man’s wrist.

“Because of that,” he said softly.

Legs tightened around his hips. A hand settled on his right forearm, squeezing gently. “You know I’m pretty messed up,” he whispered, swallowing back the rough prickling feeling in his throat. “Yeah, you should definitely be in therapy,” Wade murmured, a smile in his words. “Don’t you have some big, blonde National Treasure looking for you? Shouldn’t you be with him?” James shook his head. “I’m not the man he’s looking for, not anymore. I can’t be.” He dragged his eyes up to meet Wade’s warm hazel gaze. “But I think maybe I can be Jaime,” he whispered.

A small smile, that genuine smile reserved only for him, tugged at Wade’s lips. “Well, they say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” he drawled, snatching up a piece of french toast and taking a massive bite. The moan that slipped off his tongue was downright filthy and went straight to James' groin. He swallowed and lunged forward, capturing James’ lips with his. A hand tangled in his long hair, tugging slightly. Wade tasted like cinnamon and spices and James wanted more. Then Wade had to go and ruin it.

“Sleep with me tonight,” the man said softly, gliding his thumb softly across James’ thumb. “In the same bed, no more of this couch surfing bullshit.”

“That’s not a good idea,” James said, rearing back but Wade’s hand on the back of his neck kept him from going too far. Ice blue eyes met warm hazel and held. “I’m not—,” James started but Wade interrupted him swiftly. “I know exactly who you think you are,” he said calmly. “And I told you that it doesn’t change shit.”

James nodded stiffly, not knowing what to say. “And someone needs to fix the shower because it ain’t gonna be me,” Wade added with a smirk. “Also I want my sweatpants back. They’re softer and yours are too big.” James huffed a wet chuckle, leaning forward to press his forehead into the other man’s shoulder. Then a though popped into his head. “You called me baby,” he mumbled into Wade’s shirt. “What’s that?” the man asked.

“You called me baby, back at the lab,” he said more clearly, pulling his head up from the crook of Wade’s neck. For the first time in five months, James caught Wade off guard. The man’s lips parted but no sound came out. “Did I just make Wade Wilson speechless?” James murmured smugly, noticing the flush that was creeping up the man’s neck. “Go fuck yourself,” Wade snapped, humour in his eyes and embarrassment on his cheeks. “Naw,” James drawled wickedly, leaning forward until his lips just brushed teasingly against Wade’s.

“I’d rather fuck you, dollface.”

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

James woke slowly, a luxury he didn’t get to experience often. Usually he was jerked awake by bad dreams or worrying sounds snapping his reflexes into high gear. Not this morning. This morning he was pulled from sleep by the cool morning sun that streamed through the windows to cast shadows. The watery light foretold the cold weather that was surely on the way. Soft clattering sounds reached his ears and he blinked sleep from his eyes as he let his body slowly adjust to consciousness.

The bed was warm, a contrast to the slight chill in the apartment and he didn’t bother to drag himself out of his nest of blankets. The gentle sounds of movement coming from the kitchen meant that Wade was home and James didn’t have to worry about leaving himself vulnerable. He was just starting to drift off again when the bed behind him dipped and a warm weight pressed up against him from behind. “I know you’re awake,” Wade murmured in a low singsong voice, breath tickling James’ ear. He replied with a grunt, not bothering to open his eyes.

A soft chuckle rumbled through the other man’s chest and James felt a hand slip under the covers and slide under the front of his shirt. He lolled his head back against Wade’s shoulder as nails scratched down his stomach. “I made breakfast,” the merc murmured against his ear. “Will I need antacids?” James snarked. Teeth nipping hard at his earlobe was the only reply. Before he could retaliate the weight behind him was gone. That was fine, James thought. He had no intention of getting out of the warm cocoon he’d created.

Something small pinged off his metal shoulder. He frowned. It happened again and he huffed in irritation. So much for just being lazy. James sat up with a scowl, only to have something smack him dead in the forehead. Wade lounged against the kitchen island with a smirk. He snapped his fingers and another something small sailed across the room to be deftly caught between James’ metal fingers.

“Are you throwing fucking _dimes_ at me?” he asked incredulously. “What, you want me to stop?” Wade drawled, picking up another dime from a little pot on the counter. “Stop it,” James protested, shoving back the covers and padding into the kitchen. “What's all this?” he asked, pulling up and staring at the kitchen table. “It’s a quiche,” Wade explained, passing him a mug of coffee.

“You made quiche,” James deadpanned, not taking the coffee until Wade fully pressed it into his hand. “It’s not that hard,” the merc deflected with a shrug. James’ eyes narrowed. “You can’t even make toast without burning it. How the fuck can you make quiche?” he accused. “Charcoal adds flavour,” Wade protested, twirling a knife lazily through his fingers. “Who made you the toast police?”

James had known the man for long enough now to know his little ticks. The knife twirling was something he did when he was nervous….or bored, or horny, or drunk. Honestly, it was really hard to tell what Wade’s ticks meant. James had to basically play detective sometimes to figure out what mood the older merc was in.

It was too early for him to be drunk, especially since he’d had a job the night before. He wasn’t horny, or at least not that much because he hadn’t just jumped James in bed and let breakfast spoil. That left bored and nervous. Wade shifted a little under James’ assessing gaze as he sliced a piece of quiche and dropped it unceremoniously on James’ plate. Nervous it was. No, not nervous exactly. Something else.

“Smells good,” the former assassin said mildly, taking a sip of the jet fuel that Wade tried to pass off as coffee. It reminded him of what the Commandos used to make on the road. It was like drinking a warm cup of nostalgia, tinged with only the good memories of companionship so James wasn’t complaining any. “It was my mom’s recipe,” Wade revealed nonchalantly, taking a bite of his own quiche like he hadn’t just dropped a massive revelation.

And there it was; the reason for the knife twirling. Neither of them really talked about their past, James because a lot of his life before HYDRA was still a bit of a jumble and the rest was a compete fucking nightmare and Wade because…well, James wasn’t really sure what his reasons were but he knew they both had their fair share of sour memories. “Really?” James said carefully. “Hmmm,” Wade hummed around another bite of egg. “I used to help her make it, when I was little.”

Wade’s eyes flicked up to James and he made a face. “Oh don’t go getting all sappy seconds on me,” he whined. “Just surprised is all,” James confessed mildly, taking a bite. It was delicious. They ate in silence, plowing through most of the quiche before memories itched behind James eyes.

_A beautiful woman with a tired smile and kind eyes ruffling his hair. The same woman looking at him with painful disappointment as she dabbed a cotton ball at his split eyebrow._

_A hand covering her mouth but eyes crinkled with laughter. A cool hand on his forehead when he got the flu, gentle eyes when she wiped away his tears._

“My mom used to make rice pudding every Sunday after church,” he said quietly. “I would help her make it. I think her name was Sarah.” He felt Wade’s eyes snap up to his. There was something wary and a little accusatory in the look but James didn’t really notice. On the heels of the memories had come a bitter realization. “She would be dead by now,” he swallowed, throat feeling tight. “I don’t even know where she’s buried.” He felt Wade go still across from him and felt himself flush. “Sorry, didn’t mean to get all…,” he trailed off, downing his unease in his coffee.

“Morbid? Macabre? First three minutes of the movie Up?” Wade snarked, twirling his fork through his fingers. “I don’t get that last reference,” James said sourly. “We have to fix that,” Wade said, pointing his fork at James. “Right now. All other plans are cancelled.” And that was how James ended up on the couch with a lapful of mercenary, watching a kids cartoon that definitely didn’t have him tearing up.

 

It was two weeks later and seven in the morning as James was leaving the bar. He’d taken to covering shifts a few times a week when Weasel needed the extra hands or wanted a night off to visit his aunt in Bridgewater, or so he said. James wasn’t sure he believed him.

A soft squeal of tires was his only warning. He leapt back just as a truck roared up in front of him on the sidewalk, nearly taking out a garbage can. His vision tunnelled, enhanced responses flooding adrenaline into his body, but it was just Wade. Of course it was only Wade. “The fuck, man?” he grumbled as he hopped up into the passenger seat, focusing on slowing the hammering in his chest. “Morning sunshine,” the merc crowed, flipping the bird at the disgruntled pedestrians taking offence to his parking job.

“How did you ever get a licence?” James protested as Wade reversed into traffic, causing a hailstorm of screeching brakes and honking horns. “Got Weasel to forge me one,” Wade said, so straight faced that James couldn’t tell if he was lying or not.

He drifted, letting Wade’s ramblings wash over him until he felt the road change. He opened his eyes to cables whizzing past the window as they drove over the East River. He raised an eyebrow in Wade’s direction. “Scenic route,” Wade said with a shrug. James narrowed his eyes. “Okay, actually,” the man back-peddled. “You ever read those _pick your own adventure_ books where you make decisions for your character and then they can go down different roads and—,”

“Wade, you’re rambling,” James interrupted. Wade took a deep breath. “I found out where your mom is buried,” he confessed. “You what?” James breathed, staring in shock. With a squeal of tires, Wade pulled the truck over, taking up two parking spots as turning to face him. “Okay, if I crossed a line here, just say so,” he pleaded. “And I will just take you to Sylvia’s for breakfast and we’ll forget this potentially disastrous idea of mine ever happened.”

James said nothing, feeling numb. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel. The memories he had of his mother were jumbled and out of order. They were all faded around the edges, splintered by ice and a few thousand volts of electricity. “Jaime?” Wade asked, fingers twitching absentmindedly against the steering wheel.

“Just drive,” he replied softly.

Twenty minutes later they were standing at the front gates as a light drizzle darkened their shoulders. A rolling hill stretched out before them, dotted with trees and headstones. He followed a few steps behind Wade as the merc meandered around the graves towards the far side of the cemetery. The headstones slowly got older. They became less cared for, moss growing into the lettering on the fronts and leaves scattered about. A few had wilted flowers, some desiccated to the point of paper. James remembered visiting Steve’s mother at a cemetery just like this, bringing flowers and promising to keep an eye on the little shit. That woman had been a force, right till the end.

Oh.

“ _Steve’s_ mother was called Sarah,” James confessed softly, mostly to himself even though he knew Wade could hear him. He huffed with irritation, shoving his hands in his pockets as the rain started to pick up. “I don’t even remember my own mother’s name,” he muttered bitterly. James was so tied up in himself he didn’t notice Wade had stopped until he nearly ran into him.

“Her name's Winifred,” Wade said softly.

James looked down to where the name _Winifred Charlotte Barnes_ was carved into a simple grey headstone. James’ eyes scanned the curling writing below her name as he took a knee beside the headstone.  _Beloved daughter, sister, mother. Gone from our eyes but kept alive in our hearts._ His fingers brushed the smooth stone, across the numbers carved into her birthday and the date she died.

“February third, nineteen forty-seven,” he breathed, feeling something cold settle deep in his chest. “Jesus, that was…” His words were choked off as his throat began to close but he forced the words out anyways. “That was only two years after I fell,” he whispered, left hand whirring as he clenched into a fist. His eyes began to burn and he scrubbed a hand across his face, sniffing wetly.

“I gave her so much grief growing up,” he choked out. “Was always getting into fights. She blamed every one of her grey hairs on me. I was the oldest, she’d say. I should know better, should set an example for my brother and sisters.” His fingers brushed against the lily flower that was carved beside her name. It had been her favourite flower. “But she never could make it through a scolding without either laughing or hugging me.” he added, the memory blooming into the forefront of his mind. He heard Wade let out an amused breath and the hand on a hand settled gently on his shoulder.

James swiped his sleeve under his nose with another sniff, feeling all sorts of mixed up emotions swirling behind his eyes. “I should’ve…,” he bit the words off as soon as they slipped out. He should have brought flowers, had Wade found a flower shop on the way or something. Anything.

He heard a soft rustling and something moved into his peripheral vision. He turned his head to stare at the single white lily held gingerly betweens scarred fingers. “I found a photo of the headstone when I was…anyways,” Wade cleared his throat uneasily. At any other moment James would have found humour in how unlike himself the man was acting, sounding so unsure of himself. He took the flower silently, laying it gently atop the headstone.

“I’m sorry I don’t remember you better,” he whispered.

He stood, swiping a hand across his eyes. With a cleared vision, he realized that the headstone was clean. No moss grew within the carved letters, unlike the adjacent graves. There were no leaves on the grave itself, even a small jar of flowers was set to one side. The flowers were only days old, barely losing their colouring. Someone was maintaining it. Someone was bringing flowers, cleaning up the grave, paying their respects.

“We should go,” he said stiffly, feeling very exposed. “We can stay as long as you—,” Wade started but James was already striding back towards the truck. They drove back to the apartment in silence. Wade made one quick stop at a bakery in Brooklyn to pick up breakfast. James had stayed in the truck, trying not to fidget. The trip had brought up an irrational instinct to run, an instinct he was slowly losing the battle against.

“Okay, fess up, buttercup,” Wade sighed, sitting across from James with the remnants of breakfast scattered across the kitchen table. James’ barely eaten croissant sat ignored on the plate in front of him. “I know you like being the strong silent type but you’ve been extra moody-broody since we got back.” James sent the older man a sour look, fingers fiddling against his coffee mug. “I can play this game too, handsome,” the merc drawled, leaning back in his chair. “And I’ll have you know I—,”

“Someone’s maintaining her grave,” James interjected, immediately shutting Wade up. “I wasn’t expecting that.” Silence stretched across the small apartment. It always surprised him how quiet Wade could be if he really put his mind to it. “I’m not gonna run,” James said defensively once the quiet had stretched too long. “I just…I hate that they made me miss so much,” he confessed. Wade looked at him with assessing eyes. When he finally spoke, it wasn’t anything James had been expecting him to say.

“You wanna go shoot something?” he asked.

 

  
James followed Wade into the sketchy looking building in the middle of the warehouse district. Wade had said nothing on the subject beyond _“Trust me”_ , so James had no idea what he was walking into. Once inside, James couldn’t help but gawk. The immediate inside of the massive rusted-out warehouse had been transformed into a stylish reception area. Black painted walls bracketed a comfortable sitting area filled with blood-red couches and gun-silver tables. A long reception desk sat across the way where a bored looking girl sporting a dozen facial piercings was flipping through a gossip magazine. Muffled gunfire could be heard rattling through the walls behind her.

“Mary! Long time no see,” Wade drawled at the brown haired woman who was brushing past them towards the door. _“Fuck you!”_ she spat, flipping them both off before slamming the door harshly behind her. “Alrighty then,” Wade said, not deterred in the least. “Don’t take it personal,” the girl behind the desk drawled as they neared. “Bloody Mary’s been in control all morning, the domineering bitch.”

“Multiple personalities,” Wade said to James in a hushed whisper like that cleared everything up. “Regular?” the girl asked to which Wade shook his head. “His choice,” he explained, jerking a thumb back in James’ direction. “You got a catalogue?” A folded paper pamphlet was shoved in his face, which he took gingerly.

“Okay, so there’s a bunch of different packages to choose from,” Wade explained as James opened the pamphlet. “Straight and simple range time, or there’s what’s called the Sniper Gallery which is specifically for long range sharpshooting. There’s simulation rooms, moving targets, holo-simulations, the fucking works. You wanna shoot it, they have it. Except people, that’s only offered every third Thursday.” James raised an eyebrow at that last part. “Kidding!” Wade sang in response to the withered look the former assassin sent him. “Mostly. Anyways, what’re you thinking?”

Wade’s sarcastic smirk pulled into a full grin as James pointed out what interested him. “Shoulda fucking known,” the merc drawled, pulling out a black unmarked credit card and passing it to the girl behind the desk. “You know the drill, Wade,” she drawled, handing over two passkeys on long cords. “I don’t need to do the whole spiel for him, do I?”

“Naw, I'll give him the rundown,” Wade replied, pressing his thumb against the iPad the woman produced. “Basically it’s all the typical range rules with one simple addendum,” he told James as he secured one of the lanyards through the dark-haired man’s belt loop and herded him towards a red door at the back of the room. “Which is?” James inquired as Wade swiped the card against a scanner by the door. A small light switched from red to green and he pulled the door open with a mocking half bow. “No killing anyone in the building or on the surrounding property,” Wade explained. “Everyone is welcome so you’ll often get mercs in here with personal grudges.” James blinked. “What exactly is this place?” he asked. “It’s a shooting range, duh!” the merc drawled as he led him down a narrow hallway. “Just a shooting range for us degenerates who may or may not be able to go to the regular ranges for…legal reasons. Also it’s way better than anything you’ll find at the regulated ones. Here we go.”

Wade led James through another door and into a large room. Most of it was behind a thick metal fence, where a heavily tattooed man sat in front of dozens and dozens of racked rifles. Wade chuckled softly and James could only imagine the look he had on his face. “Like a kid in a candy store,” Wade murmured as he strode across to the gate. “What’re you thinking?”

James’ eyes roamed the racks, taking stock of what was there. It was an impressive collection, with weapons from manufacturers all over the world. James was starting to feel a little out of his depth with all the choices. He’d never had to choose before. HYDRA always had the latest equipment and just gave it to him. He settled on the Barrett. It was one he used before and liked the handling of it. Wade hummed his approval over the choice as the man in the cage returned with the rifle case and a few amo packs. “Scan your card,” he said, pointing to the scanner. James swiped it gingerly, initiating a happy little beeping sound after which the man slide the case across to him.

“Whaddya want?” the man asked Wade, popping a piece of chewing gum in his mouth. “You got anything vintage?” Wade asked, eyeing James out of the corner of his eye. “Got a Springfield, an Arasaka, and a Johnson,” the tattooed man listed. James started at the last one, the familiar name echoing deep into his chest. “I think we may still have a—,”

“The Johnson,” Wade interrupted smoothly, a knowing twinkle in his eye as he looked James over. “I’ll take the Johnson.” Moments later the man returned with another long case. Another scanned card, another happy little beeping sound, and Wade was leading James back down the hallway, up a flight of stairs, and through a door labelled "Sniper Gallery".

The room was absolutely massive. Twelve lanes were spaced evenly through the room, with targets at adjustable distances. Couches and plush chairs sprawled out along the back wall for people sharing lanes or just coming to watch. There were a couple people already there, mostly clustered at the ranges closest to the door. Wade silently led James across the room, putting multiple lanes between them and the other shooters.

“Well, well, well. Wade Wilson. Fancy seeing you here,” a sultry voice drawled out as James and Wade placed the cases on the waiting tables. James glanced up to eye the young woman as she leaned against the table. “Inez,” Wade said with a cheeky smile. “Punch anyone’s sternum out through their spine lately?”

“I see no one has managed to stitch your yap shut yet. Pity,” Inez retorted, tossing her long blonde hair back off her shoulder. Bright blue eyes raked blatantly over James and he forced himself not to shift under the sharp gaze. “Well hello, handsome,” she purred, cocking her hip out to the side. “What’s a tall drink o’ water like you doin’ in such company?”

“Ah, hi. Right here,” Wade protested, raising his hand like a student in class. “And if you’re so thirsty, why don’t you hit up Stack for a quickie? I hear he has a vibrate setting.” Inez smirked, showing teeth. “Why Wade, I never knew green would be such a good colour on you,” she drawled. “And what, dark and broody can’t speak for himself?”

James glared, putting more than a little of the Soldier in the look. Inez blanched, just a little. He knew what it looked like. His eyes were a great intimidation factor. He’d learned there was something about the pale eyes with the dark hair that made for a unsettling combination. “Why’s it always the pretty ‘uns that got a touch of the crazy,” Inez muttered as she straighten. “Well, you’d know,” Wade snarked. “Flatterer,” the woman shot back before strolling back to her lane.

“Alright,” Wade exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “Let’s shoot some shit!”

James reached for the Barrett but Wade slide the case out of his reach, swapping it out for the one he’d been carrying. His face betrayed nothing but calm innocence when James shot him a look, but the former assassin knew better. He couldn’t stop his breath hitching in his chest as he opened the case. He couldn’t stop his hands from trembling, just a little, as he picked up the Johnson rifle from its foam nest. It was the same model he’d used in the war, minus the extra bells and whistles Stark had added. His let his hands roam over the smooth wood, the sleek dark metal.

He could feel Wade’s eyes on him and flushed, clearing his throat with embarrassment. “Like coming back to an old lover, huh,” the merc said, understanding humour in his voice. James just nodded, not trusting his voice as memories choked it off. “Well, what are you waiting for?” Wade teased, brushing up against his side and offering him a hair tie. “You gonna ask the lady for a dance or what?”

 

  
“That,” Wade said around a mouthful of lettuce and chicken. “Was the most incredible thing I have ever witnessed in my entire professional career, have I told you that?” James sighed, gathering up his own taco carefully. “More than once,” he drawled, finishing his food in one bite. “You never missed a shot,” the merc continued, unperturbed. “There wasn’t any black on the target left at all. Just a hole. A perfect round hole. God, it was as good as porn. No, better than porn. The best kind of porn. _Fuck_ , the things you do to me.”

“Jesus Christ. Wade, we’re in public,” James hissed, feeling his neck flush hot. They weren’t at _St. Margaret’s_ , they weren’t in some dive surrounded by the cities worst. They were at an actual restaurant in a slightly nicer part of town, about a twenty minute walk from Wade’s apartment. Two young women at a nearby table sent them a knowing look, hiding smiles behind manicured hands.

James huffed a exaggerated breath and pinched the bridge of his nose theatrically. He heard soft giggles from the girls accompanied with a rude snort from the man across from him. He caught sight his reflection in the window and barely recognized himself. His long hair was pulled back into a low bun, facial hair trimmed down to a rough stubble. The leather jacket over a dark grey shirt matched in reverse colours to what Wade had worn today. He took a minute to look the other man over, from the chunky knockoff watch around his wrist to the devilish spark in his bright eyes.

“We should change that,” Wade was suggesting with a sly smirk. “The in-public thing. Or not. You know me, I’m never above a little PDA. Whaddya say, wanna give those college girls a show?” That lewd eyebrow waggle was too much and James lobbed a piece of tomato at his head. Wade caught it easily with his teeth, eyes never leaving James’.

“Thank you,” James said softly, sincerely. The smile that Wade gave him in return was just as soft. “They have your name on file now,” he offered as a response. “Jaime Klein. I’ll make you up an ID, you can go back whenever you want.”

This man.

James had never had someone in his life like Wade. The closest that came to it was Steve and James did not want to be thinking of the man who was practically his brother as the blood from his brain decided to take a trip downstairs. Before he really knew he was moving, James had thrown down a couple twenties and was grabbing Wade’s jacket to physically drag him out of the restaurant.

“Oooh, I like it when you get all overbearing,” the merc rumbled, crowding up behind James as they stumbled out into the street. “You wanna pin me down and have your way with me? I’ve got handcuffs. Actually, I’ve got a whole box of shit under the bed. Didn’t wanna scare you away by bringing it out too early but you know what they say, better—!”

Wade’s words were cut off sharply as James rounded the corner and ran straight into a wall of solid muscle. He bounced away, back colliding with Wade’s chest. Shit, he really didn’t want to get into a fight. It had been such a good day. “Sorry man,” he muttered, keeping his eyes downcast and trying to appear nonthreatening. “Didn’t see yah there.”

_“Bucky?”_

James froze, eyes snapping up to meet familiar blue eyes; eyes that were as wide with shock as his own. It was as if time stopped. No one moved, no one seemed to even breathe for a very long moment. Steve unfroze first, blinking owlishly. “Buck, I—,”  
  
“Sorry, pal,” James found himself saying, the lies slipping easily off hid tongue. “But I don’t know you.” The pain that flooded Steve’s eyes pierced James right through the chest and almost had him relenting. “Bucky, please,” the man begged, a hand reaching for his flesh bicep. The man’s fingers had barely brushed his jacket before Wade was there, a hand wrapping around Steve’s wrist.

“He says he don’t know you, blondie,” Wade stated with a dangerous look in his eye. “So why don’t you back off?” Steve’s eyes snapped from the hand on his wrist up to Wade, flicking briefly to James before focusing back on the mercenary. “And you are?” Steve asked politely enough, but it was in that tightly controlled tone that James knew all to well. “The guy who’ll make you back off,” Wade warned.

Something hard glinted in Steve’s eye and James could feel this was going to begin to derail and quickly. His breath stuttered in his chest and he needed to get out of here. So he literally seized an opportunity and grabbed a passing bike messenger by the shirtfront. He swung the man around and straight into Steve. Down the two went, Steve’s legs getting tangled in the bike. In those few seconds of chaos, James whirled, grabbed Wade, and booked it down the alley.

He let Wade go once the man had his feet back under him and then kept running. He ignored Steve calling his name, just kept running until the man’s voice slowly fading even to his enhanced hearing. He kept running, even ignoring Wade as the other man tried to get him to slow down.

Finally a hand grabbed at his jacket and he whirled, slamming Wade against a nearby car before he realized what he was doing. James dropped him nearly as quickly as he grabbed him and would have taken off again if Wade hadn’t grabbed him by the elbows. “Whoah, slow down there, Peter Rabbit,” he man gasped, slightly out of breath.

“Fuck,” James spat, trembling with adrenaline and something akin to fear. The run had pulled his hair from the low bun he’d had and it tumbled in an unruly mess around his face. He was practically vibrating with nervous energy, mind a jumble of conflicting wants and instincts. God, the want to stay, to go back, to explain everything to Steve.

But everything was different now. It had been for a long time, even before HYDRA had hooked their claws into him, if he was being honest with himself. Not the first time they got him, but after. Ever since Steve changed and that was the real kicker. Steve didn’t need him anymore, hadn’t for a long time now.

Bucky had felt it then and James, or Jaime, felt it now. The dynamics of their friendship had shifted so drastically after Stevie had juiced himself up into a fucking Greek god. He wondered what would have happened, if they had both survived the war. What would they have become? So much of that friendship had been built on Bucky looking out for Steve. Hell, the first time they met was on the playground, Bucky swooping in to save little Stevie from a beating. When that changed, when it was _Steve_ saving Bucky….it was enough to make a fella’s head spin but there hadn’t been any time to figure out this new dynamic because they’d been in the middle of a fucking war. So Bucky had fallen in line, one step behind Steve who took to being a leader like he was born to it. He’d always been a bossy lil’ guy so it made a weird kind of sense.

And now, god _now_ , with what James had done? He’d helped tear down everything Steve had fought and sacrificed for. He killed so many people, killed the man who made Steve’s shield.

He’d tried to kill _Steve_.

“Take a breath,” the merc advised, tightening his hold ever so slightly and that’s when James realized that his breath was stuttering in his chest, coming out all fluttery and wrong sounding. “Focus on your breathing, slow it down.” He did as he was told. Breathe in for four, hold for two, out for four. Slowly the roaring in his ears subsided and his heartbeat began to slow.

“Ever tried dolphin breathing before?” he heard Wade say and he blinked, focusing in on the strange words. “The fuck are you talking about?” he gasped, fingers flexing against the man’s jacket. “Dolphin’s sleep with only half their brain at a time,” the merc was explaining, eyes never leaving his. “So you just breath with half your nose.” James watched as Wade demonstrated, pinching off one nostril to breath in, holding it, then closing off the other one to breath out. “That looks fucking stupid,” he slurred, swallowing thickly.

“Hey don’t knock it till you try it,” Wade advised with a smirk. “Hon, you are shakin’ like a leaf,” he drawled in a fake southern accent, gently squeezing James’ shoulder. “I panicked,” James whispered, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I noticed,” the merc drawled. “It’s okay. That wasn’t the kind of cardio I was anticipating today but it’s fine. Nothing like a little warmup before the main event.”

“The fuck am I gonna do?” he gasped, the subsided panic threatening to claw its way back into his throat. “ _We_ ,” Wade said sternly, interrupting the anxiety before it could take hold again. “Are going to spend the next two hours walking around New York to make sure we don’t have a tail. We'll look like the perfect gay hipster couple after we stop at a Starbucks and then find you a scarf. Maybe some fake glasses. It'll be fun. And then we're going to go home.”

“Home,” James breathed, the word feeling strange on his tongue. Wade nodded. “Home," the man echoed. "And then, after a goodly amount of cheap bourbon and some of Weasel’s bathtub gin that may or may not make us go blind, we’ll figure out how you want to deal with Stars and Spangles back there. Sound good?” James thought it over, weighing it against the option to just knock Wade out then and there and smuggle himself into Romania. Finally, he nodded. “Yeah,” he said, realizing that, for the first time in a very long time, he didn't  _want_ to face it all alone, but not only that. Now, he didn’t _have_ to.

“Yeah, sounds good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Hope you're all still enjoying it. Hope you enjoyed the couple little cameos I slid in at the gun range! Also, dolphin breathing is a real technique for helping to deal with stress and anxiety! :)


	5. Chapter 5

It was an icy morning in the beginning of December when James startled awake in the pre dawn darkness, heart hammering in his chest for a reason he no longer remembered. He swallowed what felt like glass and tried to remember how to move. 

It had been getting worse. In the beginning, when the paralysis had first started, he’d been relieved. He didn’t have to worry about waking up in the middle of the night with his hands around Wade’s throat. This was better. This was far better, even if it was hard to convince himself of that as he lay frozen like he was back in cryo.

His breath stuttered, trying to squeeze past the invisible vice that was tightening around his chest. A hot panicked feeling fluttered awake in his belly, causing tears to prick at the corners of his eyes. Fuck, this was a bad one. He choked back a whimper, determined not to wake the man he knew was sleeping peacefully beside him.

He concentrated with all his might, pushing back against that dreadful feeling that someone or _something_ was watching him. His vision blurred with painful relief as he raised a finger an inch off the covers. Slowly, inch by inch, he regained a sloppy sort of control. Finally he was able to wipe the sweat and tears from his eyes with shaky fingers, taking a breath that bordered on desperate. With far more effort than it should have taken, James rolled over towards the sleeping man who lay between him and the windows.

God, that man slept like there wasn’t a care in the world. He slept so soundly, face soft and so young looking. After everything Wade had been through, James had never seen the mercenary woken by a nightmare or unpleasant memory. If he was startled by a loud noise, he came awake all at once with a relaxed laziness, missing that panicked edge James knew he radiated in waves under the same conditions. Under normal circumstances, Wade woke like an overgrown house cat, slow and lazy with a ridiculous amount of stretching.

James always loved to watch Wade sleep, which sounded super creepy and he’d never admit to it out loud. Since the neighbours had strung the lights up in their windows and along balconies in anticipation of the approaching holiday season, he’d found himself doing more and more. The multicoloured lights bathed Wade’s bare shoulders and back in a rainbow, dancing across lean muscles that rose and fell softly. James curled in on himself, letting the other man’s peaceful breathing help settle his own.

Still feeling a little shaky, James reached out with metallic fingers, stopping just shy of Wade’s ribs. He didn’t want to startle the man. He didn’t want to ruin the moment. Eventually he heard the mercenary’s breathing start to change, announcing that he was starting so wake up. Want flared hot underneath his ribs and he shifted closer to the sleeping man. The longer James was around Wade, the bolder he became. It was as if he was moving closer to what he remembered being like before the war. It was a little like coming home, comfortable and familiar. James slide a leg over the back of one of Wade’s, his knee occupying the space between the merc’s splayed thighs as he pressed close against him.

Wade shifted, a grumbling noise rumbling deep in his chest but quickly settled again. James felt a fond smile tug at his lips as he trailed his fingertips lightly down the merc’s spine. The muscles rippled, skin reacting to the cold touch. The man shifted, head turning until one reproachful dark eye glared at James over a sculpted bicep. James grinned, sliding his icy hand flat up Wade’s back. The man hissed, tensing.

“Yer fuckin’ cold,” Wade snarked reproachfully, twisting his head around to send James a sour look. James smirked, moving to trap Wade underneath his superior weight. His chest pressed flush against the man’s back. “And fuckin’ heavy,” Wade grumped. James chuckled, taking pity on Wade by bracing his artificial arm on the mattress as he slide his other hand up to tangle in the man’s short hair. “Good morning to you too,” he murmured in Wade’s ear. Wade hummed as James scratched blunt nails through his short hair. He pulled the man’s head to the side sharply, revealing a long tantalizing strip of tanned skin and corded muscle. Wade squirmed under him, trying to get leverage to shift the power dynamic but James just pressed down against the merc’s back.

“Don’t move,” he murmured as he started working up the man’s shoulder with lips and teeth. “You sure you weren’t a dominatrix in a past life?” Wade asked as James began to work his way up the blonde’s neck. “Because you really like giving orders. Plus I could totally see you rocking a latex miniskirt, no problem.” James couldn’t help but snort. “Shut up,” he ordered, nipping at the meaty part where Wade’s shoulder met his neck. “But whips and chains excite me,” the merc said in a sing-song voice. The end of his words bit off into a sharp gasp as James yanked his head back sharply. “Shut the fuck up,” he growled dangerously, watching the way the merc’s throat tolled against the stretch in his neck. “How about you make me, pretty boy?” Wade retorted.

James’ response was completely physical. He rolled back over, taking Wade with him. The man’s full weight settled on his chest and he hooked his feet under Wade’s calves, pulling his legs open. His metal hand settled around Wade’s throat, fingers curling up over the man’s jaw. He set the pads of the first two fingers against Wade’s lips, pushing the man’s head back to rest against his shoulder.

“Open,” he murmured hotly against the merc’s ear as he dug his remaining fingers into the hinge of Wade’s jaw. He felt Wade’s mouth fall open easily and he slide his fingers deep into his mouth. He stopped just shy of actively choking the merc, pressing down against his tongue. Lips closed around the digits, sucking eagerly. The dark haired man nipped lightly at the curve of Wade’s ear and the moan that dragged from the blonde’s throat was downright filthy and went straight to James’ groin.

“Tell me what you want,” he breathed against Wade’s ear as his fingers teased at the band of the man’s briefs. Wade just groaned, trying to buck up against James’ touch as his own hand strayed towards the growing bulge in his underwear. James just slapped the offending hand away sharply. “ _Hey_ ,” Wade cried in whiney outrage, only slightly muffed by the fingers still pressed deep into his mouth. “No touching,” James growled softly, pulling his fingers from Wade’s mouth to tightening around his throat and prompting a shiver to run through the slimmer man’s body.

“Tell me what you want,” James asked again, slipping his thumb under Wade’s elastic waistband. Wade groaned, deep and throaty. “You know what I want,” he breathed, pressing his head firmly back against James’ shoulder. The former assassin smirked as he continued to tease. “I wanna hear you say it,” he prompted gently. “Fuckin’ tease,” Wade grumbled sourly. James just chuckled. “Turn about is fair play,” he teased, sliding his fingers a little further under the bright silky material. Only Wade would wear bright purple briefs with fucking sprinkled donuts on them. “Say it.”

“Touch me,” Wade breathed. “I am touching you. Be specific,” James ordered, scratching his nails down the crease of Wade’s hip. “Asshole, you know what I mean,” Wade snapped, grabbing James’ hand and pressing it against his crotch. In a snap, James bucked Wade off. The man was flipped over onto his front and James grabbed the man’s chin roughly, holding him up. Wade’s hands scrabbled against the sheets, trying to support some of his weight instead of letting it all rest into James’ artificial hand.

The plates in the arm whirred dangerously as James pulled Wade forward until their lips were scant inches apart. “What did I tell you?” James growled, fingers digging into the man’s jaw. “No touching,” the man gasped, voice muffled as his jaw pressed down into the metal palm. “No touching,” James echoed softly. “Now, you gonna behave?” Wade nodded, slightly awkward because of the angle. “Use your words,” James scolded, giving him a small shake. Indignation and rebellion flooded into Wade’s dark eyes. “How about you just fucking fuck me already?” he growled, body tense with irritation. James narrowed his eyes and surprise flickered through Wade’s eyes. “Wrong answer,” James stated before simply dropping the slimmer man. Wade just barely managed to catch himself before he face planted into the mattress.

“Wait, where are _you_ going?” James heard Wade ask in dismay as he slid out from under the covers. He had his jeans on and halfway buttoned before he finally glanced back over his shoulder. Wade was still on his knees, rocking sleep tousled hair, tented briefs, and a look of irritated dismay in his eye. James waited patiently.

“What, you’re just gonna leave me like this?” the merc accused, waving a hand in the vague direction of his crotch. James raised an eyebrow. “What’s gotten into you this morning?” Wade accused. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining but that hinges solely on you getting your ass back over here and finishing what you started.” James hummed, somewhere deep in his chest as he turned around and took a few measured steps back towards the man. “You want me to finish what I started?” he echoed, another step taking him back to the edge of the bed. “You want me to pin you down, a hand around your throat?” James knelt by the edge of the bed as his eyes flicked back up to Wade’s, finding them dilated almost to black.

It should have been a weaker position. James should have felt dominated, with the other man looming over him but somehow he didn’t. He felt completely in control. “You want me to fuck you?” he drawled, eyes hooded and lazy. Wade nodded eagerly, lips parting slightly as his breath fluttered. James reached up, pinching Wade’s chin between his fingers so his thumb pressed against Wade’s lower lip. “Use your words,” James murmured as he drew Wade’s face down to his. The mercenary ended up on his knees and forearms, face level with James’. “Yes,” he whispered, breath warming the space between them. James smiled, soft and disarming as he leaned forward until they’re lips were just barely touching.

“Beg me.”

Wade jerked back from James’ grip, something unreadable flickering across his eyes like a shield. James froze, wondering if he’d gone too far, pushed past an invisible boundary he hadn’t know Wade had. They’d battled for dominance in bed all the time but neither of them had taken quite to this point, this blatant show of asserting dominance. Wade had hinted and teased that he wanted to let James tie him down and have his way with him but they had only been words until now. Maybe that’s all it had been. Maybe it had just been Wade running his mouth.

Then Wade smirked, just a little bit. Rebellion and unfiltered excitement flickered across his face as he leaned forward until James felt morning scruff brush his cheek and lips tease at his ear. A hot breath caressed his skin as Wade spoke two words in retaliation. Two words that had James’ vision tunnelling to laser precision and his breath catching in his throat.

“Make me.”

James hand was around Wade’s throat in an instant and the second the other man’s hands latched around his wrist, he was hauling all two hundred odd pounds of mercenary off the bed. He brought them nose to nose for a moment, a scant inch separating their heights. Heat crackled between them and James surged forward, catching Wade’s lower lip between his teeth. He bit down until he heard the man grunt then pulled away and lifted Wade up onto the nearby dresser with a snarl.

Wade’s flailing hand knocked the lamp over and it fell to the floor with a sharp crash but neither of them payed it any mind. The piece of furniture was low, keeping them at eye level as James slotted himself between Wade’s legs. “Was that a challenge?” he growled, pushing the merc against the wall as his metal hand grabbed possessively at Wade’s hip.

“Traffic light,” Wade gasped. James couldn’t even begin to guess what that meant and his brow furrowed in confusion. “Green for go, yellow for slow down, red for stop,” Wade elaborated. “No bruises where they’ll show.” James faltered, the knowledge that he was far stronger and far more resilient than the mercenary hitting him like a pistol whip. He saw the way the skin around the man’s throat was beginning to redden under his hand and he loosened his grip as if he’d been shocked.

Instantly Wade was leaning forward into his hand, causing James’ palm to press hard against his throat. “I’m not gonna break,” the man stated calmly, that odd grounded energy he seemed to only have around James radiating between them. “Come on, pretty boy,” Wade drawled. He hooked his fingers through James’ belt loops, tugging him close and James couldn’t help but wonder who was really in control here.

_“Make me beg.”_

 

  
The sun was barely beginning to filter into the loft, bathing the two men in a weak yellow light. James sucked in a long slow breath, tasting hints of nicotine and something else he couldn’t place. He glanced down at Wade, who was sprawled bonelessly across the bed, head in James’ lap and a hand-rolled cigarette between his lips. “You’re a walking cliche,” James chuckled, stretching and then grimacing as his skin crackled with dried sweat and other bodily fluids.

Wade echoed his chuckle, rolling over tiredly as he sucked on the thin roll of paper. He had a mischievous glint in his eye as he crawled closer and sealed his mouth over James’. The dark haired man parted his lips only to have a cloud of hot smoke pour down his throat. He inhaled on instinct, nostalgia curling into his chest at the sensation. He held the smoke in his lungs a long moment before slowly exhaling out through his nose. Smoke bloomed around Wade’s face and he giggled, full on giggled, as he rolled back over. “You are full of surprises today,” he chuckled, pillowing his head on the fleshy part of James’ hip. “And you’re giggly,” James replied fondly, idly threading his fingers through spiky blonde hair. “Indica always turns me into a twelve year old girl at a sleepover,” the man muttered around the smoke. “Indi-what?” James asked.

Wade tilted his head to look at James upside down, smoke curling from his nose like a dragon. “Dope? Grass? Mary Jane? The Devil’s Lettuce? Marijuana, man. You’ve never smoked it before?” James shook his head, that smell under the nicotine reminding him of late nights down near the docks. “Shit, sorry. I shoulda told you,” Wade apologized, the rolled paper wiggling between his lips as he talked. “It’s a spliff so it’s not super strong. Wait, can you even get stoned?”

“Probably not,” James said with a shrug. “Pity,” Wade commented. “Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try though.” James couldn’t help but chuckle, scratching his nails against Wade’s scalp. The mercenary practically purred, blowing smoke rings up into the air. The colourful lights could still be seen, dancing across Wade’s chest and the sheets. He only had good feelings associated with his memories of Christmas. He didn’t remember his mother well, but he did remember the way she’d save up all year to buy the biggest turkey she could find. He remembered the look of unfiltered wonder in his little sister’s eyes as she gazed up at the lights on the tree, remembered holding her little hands as he taught her to skate the year the river froze. He remembered saving pennies for months to buy Steve a new set of pencils from the art store on the corner of Sixth.

He even remembered Christmas in the trenches, backlit with ice and fear but still warm and good because of the hot cup of coffee a young medic shoved into his hands, because they’d all sat shoulder to shoulder, singing Christmas carols softly under their breath as they waited for dawn. “We should get a Christmas tree,” he said out of the blue. He felt Wade still under his hand. “Come again?” the man asked. “I don’t know, I just…,” James trailed off, trying to put his feelings into words.

HYDRA had taken everything from him, even his memories. He’d been nothing for so long. That warm fuzzy feeling that flittered around the corners of any memory associated with the holidays was something he’d like to have again. It was something he’d like to share with the person who helped him to find himself again. “I think it’d be nice,” he settled on, knowing that the words were barely adequate but hoping Wade could find the deeper meaning behind them like he always did.

“And buy into a superficial, commercialized money-mongering excuse of a holiday, no thank you,” Wade snorted, sitting out to snub the smoke out against the headboard. “You know that modern Santa came from an ad for coke, right?” James sighed. “I know, I was there,” he muttered but Wade didn’t seem to hear him. “Corporate bullshit at its finest. Oh god, please don’t tell me,” the man groaned as he rucked his jeans up over his hips. “Because this was going so well and if you turn out to be one of those red hat tinsel freaks, well I just might have to kick you to the curb.” There was a teasing edge to the smirk on the Wade’s face but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

James just shrugged, that warm fuzzy feeling now gone cold. “It was just a thought. Don’t worry about it,” he said as he pealed himself from the bed. “I’ll be home late,” Wade said as he rounded the bed to snatch his phone from the side table. “Gotta head outta town.”

“Didn’t know you had a job,” James commented quietly, snatching up a pair of discarded sweats that were poking out of the thoroughly abused dresser. “I didn’t tell you?” Wade said in mild surprise. “Shit, sorry, thought I had.” A quick press of lips against the corner of his mouth and Wade was gone. “I’ll call you!” was called out as the man slipped through the door, bursting with energy as always.

James swallowed thickly, something spiky rolling back down his throat. Wade was good at many things; sex, hand-to-hand combat, anything to do with anything sharp including his tongue. He could drink anyone save for James under the table, he could speak four languages, hell the man could even juggle. He was also a very good liar. James knew that Wade was a very good liar. He’d seen it in action against annoying bar patrons, passersby in the street, police, security officers.

He’d just never seen Wade lie directly to him before.

 

 

Over the next two weeks it only got worse. The weather wasn’t the only thing that had turned frigid. James wasn’t sure what exactly was going on with Wade but the man had turned distant. In fact, he was getting more and more withdrawn as the days wore on. Of course it wasn’t anyones definition of withdrawn. Wade was as loud and as brash as ever, but James could see the differences. If anything, he was too loud, his snarky comments wielding a sharper edge than usual. He was unable to sit still for any period of time, taking more jobs under the guise of extra opportunities with the upcoming holiday season.

He was leaving so early in the mornings that James could do nothing but watch from the covers, mind fogged and drowsy with sleep. When Wade finally did come home, it was so late he’d often just crash on the couch and leave James to the empty bed. Whenever James asked if everything was okay, Wade would brush him off with a witty quip and a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.

So with Wade not talking and acting all squirrelly, James had to find ways to keep himself occupied. He took to wandering the city, especially in the evening when the decorations lite up in a rainbow of colours. The city was beautiful. It felt alive, practically breathing with colour and light. He found it very calming and with this weather, no one looked at him twice with a beanie pulled low over his forehead and a scarf wrapped high around his throat.

He saw Steve once, buying a coffee from a cart just outside of Central Park. He was with someone, a dark haired man James vaguely remembered from the fight on the helicarriers. The man with the metal wings. He hung back, feeling a little stalker-y as he watched the two men take their coffees and walk back towards the city. He took a longer loop back to the apartment, wandering through the park as the sun set and the lights that were strung through the trees flickered on. He looped around the skating rink, slowing to watch the antics. He watched couples skate hand in hand, watched parents patiently guiding children on shaky ankles, and watched the handful of experts twirling gracefully across the ice.

Nostalgia hit like a truck and he had to grip the railing to keep his knees from buckling as he saw himself in his minds eye, holding his little sister’s hands as she slipped around in her hand-me-down two-sizes-too-big skates.

“You okay, mister?” a small voice asked.

James blinked memories from his eyes and glanced down and down. White fur earmuffs sat atop a mass of delicate blonde curls, a small body wrapped in a thick purple coat. White skates with blue skate guards hung from the little girl’s shoulder as a pair of doll-like green eyes stared up at him with concern.

“Yeah,” James rasped, dragging his focus back to the preset. “Yeah, I’m fine. Uh, where are your parents?” As if in answer, a young woman in a dark grey coat ran over. “Rebecca!” That name echoed through James ears, throwing him for yet another loop. His hand clutched at the railing like a lifeline. He couldn’t let himself fall apart in such an exposed area.

“What have I told you about running off like that?” the woman scolded, throwing a look that was one half apology, one half suspicion in James’ direction. “I’m sorry, mommy,” the little girl answered, not sounding sorry in the least. James felt a bubble of a chuckle claw at the inside of his chest and he swallowed it down. “But I saw him go dizzy and far-away, like daddy does sometimes.” Something flickered through the woman’s eyes and her face softened an inch. “Why don’t you go sit on that bench over there and put on your skates?” she urged, a guiding hand to her daughter’s back. With a squealed “Okay!” the little girl gave James a wave and skipped off.

Bright green eyes the exact same shade as the girl’s turned back to him. James struggled to meet her eyes, squashing the urge to fidget. “Sorry,” he muttered, not really knowing what else to say. “Don’t apologies,” the woman said immediately, something knowing in her voice now. “How long have you been back?” James blinked. “What?” he startled, shifting his weight.

The woman gave him a small smile. “My husband is two weeks into his second tour,” she said. “I’m ex-military myself. I know the look.” James swallowed thickly, realizing his hand was still clutching the railing. He pealed his fingers away from the icy metal with a wince. “Bit over a year,” he said gruffly, counting back from when he’d made the decision not to go back to his handlers, soaking wet and freezing on the banks of the Potomac. The woman hummed in understanding. “It’s rough, coming home,” she said in a way that didn’t come off as patronizing or pitying. James shrugged. “ ’s okay,” he said.

“You got people?” she asked, throwing a glance behind her to where her daughter were struggling with her laces. Something warm blossomed deep in his chest as a pair of mischievous brown eyes came to mind. That feeling rapidly cooled as he remembered how distant the owner of those eyes has been lately. So he shrugged again.

“Here,” the woman said, holding out a business card. “A friend of mine works at the VA. If you ever need someone to talk to, ask for Sam Wilson.” James hesitated. “I don’t know…,” he started but trailed off. It wasn’t as if he could outright talk about the reasons why he couldn’t just waltz into somewhere like the VA. He was still a wanted fugitive, regardless of the fact that he’d been growing out his beard over the past few weeks. He wasn’t a huge fan but Wade seemed to hate it more so he’d resisted the urge to shave just to piss the man off.

“Just think about it,” the woman said gently. She looked like she wanted to say more but a chorus of “Mommy, mommy, mommy!” from where the little girl sat kicking her skates against the legs of the bench. “Duty calls,” she said with a smile. “I mean it. Sam gets it. He’s one of the good ones.” And then she left before James could say anything more.

 

Wade was already asleep by the time he got back to the apartment. The man usually slept sprawled out, taking up more than his fair share of the bed with limbs all akimbo but this was different. Curled into a ball on his side, James had never seen him sleep like this. He stripped off his jeans and sat with his back against the headboard, watching Wade breathe.

It was half past two, or at least that’s what the clock on the wall said. Wade never changed it for daylights savings and he never reset it after putting fresh batteries in it so who knows what time it really was. Either way, the clock read half past two when Wade’s breathing shifted. It was subtle, so unlike the man during waking. It took on a quiet shaky quality, hitching every so often. “Wade,” James murmured softly, trying to pull the man awake gently. After a few minutes of trying it didn’t work so James slipped out of bed. He knelt on the floor by Wade’s ankles, not wanting to be too close. He knew what he’d do if he woke up with someone’s face inches from his. It wouldn’t be pretty and he had no idea how Wade might react.

Wade’s face was tense, brow furrowed like he was concentrating. The muscles in his jaw were clenched and twitching a little. One hand was tucked under the pillow but the other was clutching at the front of his shirt. “Wade,” James said insistently, placing a light hand on the man’s shin. Wade came awake all at once, but not like how James would have. James would have startled, immediately defensive and on alert. If something was touching him, he would have lashed out. Wade was different. Wade’s eyes snapped open and he just froze. He froze under the touch, froze against the bedsheets. He just froze, eyes wide and dark and staring.

“Wade?” James breathed.

Wade blinked slowly, stiffly. There was something shatteringly vulnerable in his dark eyes and then with another blink, it was gone. “What time is it?” Wade grumbled, scrubbing a hand across his face. “The clock says half past two,” he replied, his hand still on Wade’s leg. “Fuck, I overslept,” Wade spat, slipping from the bed. James’ hand fell from the man’s leg. “Just meant to have a catnap,” the blonde explained as he scrambled around the apartment grabbing up his wallet and keys, tucking a Glock into his jeans.

“Wade, it’s late,” James said, legs sliding out from under him until he sat on the floor with his back pressed against the mattress. Outside the windows, multicoloured lights blinked. “Jobs taking longer than it should, sorry,” Wade explained, shrugging on his jacket as he slipped out the door. “I’ll bring back breakfast!” James knew he was a lot of work, between the nightmares and the flashbacks and the fact that every major government on the planet was on the lookout for him. He was a dangerous war criminal to most, a brainwashed traumatized war veteran displaced out of time to a few. No one in their right mind would want to take that kind of shit on permanently but Wade never seemed to blink. He never seemed to see him as a burden. So what had changed?

He sat there for a long time, until his eyes grew heavy and threatened to close. God, he was so tired. Tired of fighting, tired of trying. Just so fucking tired all the time. He sat there until the room began to chill his skin and then he moved up onto the bed and stared at the ceiling as the night wore on. The streetlamp outside cast long shadows along the walls like looming figures staring accusingly at him. He didn’t remember falling asleep but he must have because the next thing he remembered he was opening his eyes again and he couldn’t move. Panic gripped his chest like a vice and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breath. Fear and cold and _wrongness_ threatened to overwhelm him as tears burned at his eyes.

In his peripheral vision, he saw one of those shadow detach from the wall and slither up the wall. His breath stuttered in his chest and he swallowed a scream as the shadow crawled across the ceiling until it loomed directly over him. His teeth ached as he clenched his jaw and tried to blink. Just blink, that’s all he needed to do. Just blink. Just close your eyes, James told himself as the shadow stretched across the entire ceiling and threatened to swallow him. Just close your eyes and it’ll all be over. It’ll all just be a bad dream.

A hand grabbed his jaw, sharp claw-like fingers digging into his skin. More claws racked down his left arm, digging and twisting and tearing. Tears coursed down his face like blood and it was all he could see. Blood dripped from the cracks in the ceiling in thick, ropey strands and then he was staring up at his own face. Cold empty eyes stared back at him, face wiped clean off all expression. Dead eyes, iced over like a corpse.

When he finally did scream, all that slipped past his lips was a whimper.

He lay still for a long time after he was finally able to blink. He stared at the cracked white ceiling until the sun rose over the buildings and it got bright outside. He lay there as the sky darkened and rain began to splatter the windows. He felt numb when he finally stood up, as he pulled on his pants and began tidying the loft. When he snatched up his jacket, a small card fell from the pocket. It made a soft snick sound as it hit the floor.

James wasn’t sure how long he stared at it, stared at the block printing of numbers and letters that blinked like an extended hand. Two hours later he was standing on the steps of the VA, hat pulled low over his eyes and scarf wrapped high on his throat. Stiff legs finally carried him inside, through into the front entrance where a few people lingered about. One woman walked with crutches, missing her right leg from the knee down. Another man sat to the side, eyes haunted in a way James recognized from the trenches, from the bathroom mirror every morning.

“Can I help you find something, hun?” a motherly sounding woman with steel grey hair and kind eyes asked from behind a reception desk. “Uh, I’m looking for Sam Wilson?” he asked softly, tucking his gloved hands into his pockets because he didn’t know what else to do with them. “A…someone recommended that I…I don’t really know why I’m…here, sorry I should have probably called or something…I don’t…,” he trailed off to a mumble, feeling his neck flush hot.

The woman smiled gently. “That’s alright,” she said warmly. “You’re in luck. Sam’s in for group therapy. Room 12A, just down the hall to the right. Don’t feel like you need to share,” she added quickly, correctly reading the look of thinly veiled panic that snuck into James’ eye. “If you go now, you should be able to catch him before the session starts.” James nodded stiffly, feeling his throat tighten.

His feet carried him down the hall but he wasn’t sure how and before he knew it he was staring at the letters 12A. Voices could be heard murmuring on the other side. He pushed the door open a crack. A circle of chairs were placed in the middle of the room. Six people were already sitting, two more were pouring themselves coffee at a nearby table.

“You going in or what?” A raspy voice behind his shoulder made him flinch, the door falling shut with a soft click. A grizzled old man raised his hands in a calming gesture. “Sorry there, young fellah. Didn’t mean to scare yah.” James just shrugged, stepping back out of the man’s way. “You going in?” the man asked again, softer this time. James shook his head. “No, I don’t think…no.”

“That’s okay,” the man said with a little smile. “Took me four tries before I finally went in. Another six before I said a word.” He moved slow enough for James to avoid the touch, clasping a gnarled hand to James left shoulder. The man paused and James knew he was feeling the ridges of the arm, the warped edges where metal met flesh in a thick tangle of scar tissue. “Everyone deals with it at their own pace,” he said, giving James’ shoulder a squeeze. “How’re you doing, Stan?” a rich warm voice asked from down the hall and James shrank away from the hand on his shoulder. The old man turned towards the newcomer, whose eyes flicked over to James with interest and James knew him. He knew his instantly.

It was the man with the metal wings.

“Mornin’ Sam,” the white-haired man said and as Sam’s eyes shifted focus he slipped back around the corner and towards the entrance. The same woman at the reception desk looked up with a frown as he strode back into the front foyer. “You alright hun?” she asked, a smile on her face but worry in her bright eyes. James didn’t stop, didn’t even acknowledge her as he strode out the front doors. He was three blocks away before he realized it was snowing.

He walked and walked and walked. He walked until he got to central park and then kept walking. He walked until the metal of his arm grew so cold it made his shoulder ache. The snow fell in thick flakes now and only a few remained outside. It was still snowing as he made it back around to the skating rink. Here people gathered in droves like the night before. He spotted Rebecca, skating on shaky legs while her mother held her hands. He kept his distance, not wanting to be recognized and ruin their moment.

So he kept walking. He walked until his mind was as numb as his body, which took a long fucking time. So long in fact that the sky went dark and then brightened again before he made it back to the loft. He wasn’t hypothermic, nowhere close. His body temp ran too hot to die of exposure after one night out in the snow. He was just numb, on the inside and out. His thoughts were frozen too, which was what he’d been chasing. He’d wanted to stop thinking, to stop feeling. His fingers were so numb it was a struggle to unlock the door.

The apartment was empty.

His fingers began to shake as he shrugged off his soaked coat and toed off his boots. He really should get dry, get warm, but he could barely peal off his jeans. From there he just collapsed into bed, head smacking hard against the headboard. He fell asleep again. He really needed to stop doing that. When his eyes opened, he could see Wade sitting at the kitchen island with his back to him. “You scared me last night,” Wade said softly, tone so uncharacteristically not Wade.

James’ breath fluttered in his chest as he lay stiff on the sheets. Wade kept talking but he couldn’t listen. He was too focused on the shadow that was lurking in the corner just past Wade’s shoulder. The shadow detached itself from the wall, stalking closer as it slowly took shape. Dead eyes, iced over like a corpse. “I know you’re awake,” Wade said stiffly, shoulders tense and hunched in on himself. “This isn’t easy shit for me to talk about, okay? But I’m trying here so it’d be nice if you could maybe, I don’t know…fuck.” James could only stare, tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. 

The Winter Soldier stared back before calmly snapping Wade’s neck.

“Are you even listening?” Wade snapped, sparing a quick glance over his shoulder but James still couldn’t move. He was staring at the duplicate Wade, crumpled like a discarded doll on the kitchen floor. “Christ,” the blonde man muttered, the stool he was perched on scraping back with an angry shriek. He left again and all James could do was stare at the empty floor.

 

 

The bar was packed, spilling over with the city’s best of the worst. Christmas lights were strung about the place, tinsel and mistletoe hanging about. A tree sat lopsided in one corner. Buck was sitting in front of it like a deranged Santa, hat as lopsided as the tree. Garish carols blared from the tinny speakers. 

“Thank fuck,” Weasel drawled as James rounded the corner of the bar. “Maybe you can talk some sense into that stubborn shit. He’s been here since this afternoon. He’s been in two fights, started three others, and broken at least six glasses. Even Vanessa’s avoiding him and she has the patience of a fuckin’ saint when it comes to that asshat. Here.” A mug of something frothy and white was shoved towards him across the table. “Grandma Weasel’s famous eggnog. You’ll need it.”

James’ eyes followed Weasel’s prompting nod along the bar top to where Wade was hunched over a generous pouring of whiskey. “I get this is a hard time of year for him but I’ve never seen him this rough,” Weasel added quietly, making sure his voice didn’t carry. James could feel the bartender’s questioning eyes on him but he ignored it, opting instead for a long drink of the sugary milk heavily loaded with brandy and cinnamon.

Wade ignored him as he sat down beside him. The merc’s hands were stiff around his glass as he downed his whiskey in one. A soft bruise danced at the corner of his mouth, his knuckles reddened and split. “He buys the outdated eggnog from behind the K-Mart,” Wade said offhandedly. “Thought it tasted a little sour,” James replied softly. “What do you want, Jaime?” Wade asked quietly. James wasn’t sure how to answer that question.

 _Want_ was still a hard concept, especially when he wasn’t sure exactly what it was he wanted. No, that wasn’t strictly true. James knew what he wanted. He knew the feeling of what he wanted. It was the feeling he got when he smelled fresh coffee first thing in the morning. It was the feeling of chocolate melting on his tongue. It was the feeling he got whenever he watched Wade sleep, when he woke in the morning to arms around his middle and a warm breath on the back of his neck. Now, putting all that into words…that was the trick of it.

“I’m sorry,” he said instead. Wade snorted rudely, reaching across the bar to snag a bottle of rye. Weasel shot him a dirty look but didn’t try to take the bottle back. “I didn’t know Christmas was such a sore spot for you and—,”

“Don’t,” Wade snapped, still avoiding eye contact. “Look, I know that you got a lot on your plate. Shit, you’ve got enough for twelve plates and mine looks like a microwave dinner in comparison so I can’t really blame you for—.”

“I get nightmares,” Jame interrupted. “I know,” Wade replied instantly, pouring himself another glass of whiskey. “And lately when I wake up, I can’t move,” James continued like the blonde man hadn’t spoken. He felt Wade pause mid pour. “And sometimes I see things,” he whispered painfully. “I wasn’t ignoring you,” he forced himself to say. “I just…I couldn't...” He swallowed thickly, scraping his thumb across his leather clad knuckles.

A rough scrape of glass on wood broke the silence as Wade slide his whiskey over to rest against James’ hand. “Wade,” he tried. “Shut up,” the blonde merc ordered as he snatched up another glass for himself. “We need to talk and I'm gonna need to be really drunk before we do.”

 

  
“Why’dya love Christmas so much?” Wade said, slurring his words just a little as he sprawled out on the ratty orange couch he refused to get rid of. Chunks of snow sloshed off the soles as he kicked his boots up onto the coffee table. “I don’t, not really,” James said as he perched next to the merc’s feet, mindful of the melting puddles. “Bullshit, you wanted a tree,” the man replied as he spun the lid off a bottle of scotch and snapped it across the room. It landed in the sink with a soft clatter. “That’s not—,” James started and then checked himself. It wasn’t going to help to start arguing semantics now. “I don’t remember much from before the war,” he said slowly. “But I do remember the look in my little sister’s eyes when she saw a Christmas tree for the first time.”

“My mom died on Christmas Eve,” Wade said flatly.

Shit.

“I didn’t know,” James said softly. “ ‘Course not,” Wade snapped, taking a hard swig from the bottle. “Why would you? Not like it’s something I ever talk about.” He huffed sharply. “I handled all…this badly,” he explained with a gesture of the scotch bottle, sounding painfully honest. “Don’t know why I just didn’t tell you. Stupid.”

“It’s fine,” James replied. Wade swallowed a large mouthful sharply, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “It’s not. I’m not…,” he trailed off, eyes getting lost in middle space. Wade was so confident and brash, so good at dealing with the former assassin’s insecurities, it always threw James for a loop whenever Wade showed any self-doubt. “It’s fine,” he said again, meaning more than just the word’s face value. Wade nodded, chewing on his bottom lip. He didn’t shrug off James’ touch as he slide a hand to cup the side of the man’s calf so James’ considered that a small win.

”My mom used to love Christmas,” Wade said softly, unconsciously picking at the label on the side of the bottle. “She used to wake me up in the middle of the night and we’d sneak downstairs and turn on all the lights. She’d make hots chocolate with marshmallows and we’d sit by the tree, trying to hear reindeer’s hooves on the roof.” James gripped Wade’s leg encouragingly, waiting patiently as the merc got lost in the memories. “She died when I was seven,” Wade continued hoarsely. “And then there wasn’t anymore Christmas. Just microwave dinners and beer bottles thrown at my head.” James swallowed sharply. He pretended not to notice the way Wade swiped a quick hand down his face, sniffing sharply.

“So sleep paralysis huh?” the merc said suddenly, holding the bottle out towards him. “Yeah,” James rasped, taking the bottle and downing a good bit of it. “You said you get hallucinations?” the man pressed, clearly eager to change the subject. “Sometimes,” he murmured. “Bad?” James shrugged at that, letting Wade take his own conclusions from that. “I’m sorry,” the merc said. “You didn’t know,” James replied quietly. Wade rolled his eyes. “Now we’re just talking in circles,” he huffed in exasperation. He shuffled over until he sat directly in front of James, their knees brushing against each other. “How about we both agree that we’re just two stupid fucking idiots that should never be allowed grownup responsibilities like emotions or mortgages?”

James let out a harsh breath, fingers scratching against his jeans. “I’ve never done this before,” he confessed. “Not with…and not like…” A hand settled atop his left. “Neither have I,” Wade murmured before a cheeky smirk tugged at his lips. “Did we just have our first fight?” he asked. James huffed and he hooked his thumb over Wade’s wrist. Now there was the Wade he knew starting to show through again. “Looks like,” he breathed, a smile of his own threatening to break. Wade reached a hand up, tangling in the long hair at the nape of James’ neck and pulled their foreheads together.

 

 

He remembered falling asleep with Wade’s back pressed against his chest and their legs tangled together but he woke up flat on his back. The cracks in the ceiling looked bigger tonight, like great black chasms threatening to yawn open and swallow him up. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Wade, sprawled out on his stomach and dead to the world.

His muscles were locked in place and he could only watch as the shadows pressed in on him from all sides. He could see _him_ , standing in the far corner just watching. He was just watching with those dead eyes. A whimper slipped unwillingly past his lips because he wasn’t that anymore. He’d escaped and he wasn’t that. He would never be that again, he—.

“Hey, easy, easy,” a soothing voice broke through the ice and panic and James tore his eyes away from the Soldier to look up into eyes that were dark and warm and so very alive. He tried to speak but all that came out was a muffled noise. Gentle fingers brushed hair back from his face and lips pressed gently against his forehead. “I’ll be right back, don’t move,” Wade murmured before disappearing from sight. He was back in an instant, eyes comically wide. “Shit, that was fucking insensitive, my bad.” Lips brushed against his and then Wade was gone again.

As Wade’s face disappeared from view, the Soldier’s face replaced it. He was inches away, smelling like bleach and old blood and fear. James’ eyes blurred as tears coursed down his cheeks. The Soldier was leaning closer and closer. James could see the blood flecked in his hair, across his chin. Closer, closer.

Multicoloured light bloomed to life above him and suddenly Wade was back. “I gotcha, I gotcha,” the merc murmured as he maneuvered James until his head was pillowed on his bicep, fingers threading through his hair. “Look,” Wade breathed against his ear, fingers tucking under his chin to tilt his head back. James breath caught in his chest and it wasn’t out of panic or fear this time.

Strung across the ceiling was a dizzying spiral of multicoloured Christmas lights. Some winked and twinkled, others pulsed in a pattern while the rest just glowed. It was warm and bright and safe. Fingers wrapped around his right hand and the voice in his ear murmured encouragements. “Squeeze my hand,” Wade was telling him. Slowly, ever so slowly his fingers spasmed and clutched around Wade’s. “There you go, that’s it. Good, you’re good,” the merc breathed against his neck.

A breath slipped past his lips but it sounded more like a sob. Hands helped him roll over until he was nose to nose with the blonde mercenary. “Hey,” Wade murmured with a gentle smile. “Hey,” James whispered back. A hand reached up to cup James’ cheek, thumb swiping away the gathered moisture under his eye. “Come ‘ere,” the merc said, gently moving closer until James could tuck his face into Wade’s neck and breathe in the smell of him; nicotine and bourbon and sandalwood and warmth.

“You did all that for me?” he asked, voice slightly muffled against the merc’s collarbone. He felt the man’s chuckle reverberate in his chest. “While you were asleep," he confessed. James' breath caught in his chest, sticking like toffee to the back of his throat. "Ah don’t go getting all sappy on me now,” Wade murmured into James’ hair. “Thank you,” James said softly. “Anything for you,” was the breathed reply. James smiled against Wade’s skin. “Now whose getting all sappy,” he murmured.

A long echo of silence followed, broken only by their breath and the light brush of Wade’s fingers against James’ ribs. "We should go skating," James finally said. "I don't know how to skate," Wade confessed softly. James reared back an inch, fixing the merc with a disbelieving stare. Wade rolled his eyes under the scrutiny. "I know, I know, I'm a bad Canadian," he chuckled, wrapping his arms around the the former assassin and rolling them over. James ended up on his front, half sprawled across Wade's chest with their legs all tangled together. "Don't worry, I'll teach you," James promised with a chuckle. "I look forward to it," the merc murmured into his hair, sounding sleepy and contented. James smiled and let himself drift in the warm glow of the lights, in the warmth of Wade's arms, until a thought suddenly struck him. 

"Wait, you're Canadian?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the outpouring of support for this fic! It's overwhelming and I'm so glad you all are enjoying it still! :)


	6. Chapter 6

The dawn found James sitting crosslegged on the floor, between Wade’s legs as the mercenary wove his ever-growing hair into something that probably wouldn’t end up looking like a braid. Pale sunshine glinted through the windows, flickering as dark clouds rolled threateningly across the sky. “I mean, all in all, this is not the worse International Picnic Day I’ve had,” Wade was saying, tugging gently at a tangled knot. James snorted, tying off the last stitch in Wade’s calf. It had taken six sutures to close the gouge.

“No seriously,” the blonde continued as the darker of the two wiped away the last of the blood with an antiseptic wipe and began winding gauze around the wound. “I remember this one time, back when I was in the military, our Sarge, fuck whatshisname…Kreimer! That was it. Really uptight prick, always waxing his moustache like it was the nineteen-forties again. Anyways, Pedo-stache, that’s what we called him behind his back. Never to his face. He was a scary mother fucker and we weren’t that suicidal.”

James let the other man’s voice wash over him as he finished his work and stripped off his gloves. He closed his eyes, leaning back into the scratching touch across his scalp as Wade abandoned the braid and started again. The world narrowed down to the soothing sensation and the background noise of the merc’s rumbling words. Everything else fell away as James felt his muscles relax after spending the last six hours worrying only to find out that Wade had been playing hide and seek with bounty hunters through the shittiest parts of New York. 

After the bombing in Vienna two days prior, with the tabloids and papers all pinning it on the Winter Solider, they’d had to be extra careful. Wade had come into the apartment that morning, grim faced as he turned on the tv to the new story that was breaking across the world. It had felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over James’ head. “I didn’t do it,” he whispered on reflex, staring at his own face partially hidden under a baseball cap. “That’s not me.”

Wade had just rolled his eyes. “I know that, dumbass,” he drawled. “Is your opinion of my attention span so low you think I wouldn't have noticed if you’d decided to take a skip across the pond to play Guy Fawkes?” James had huffed a breathy chuckle at the absolute butchery of that sentence. Then Wade had wrapped his arms around James’ shoulders and asked if he wanted Thai or Indian for dinner.

So they’d had to lay low, or more appropriately James did. Wade's suspicions that he was being framed with the intent to flush him into the open made sense. Three days wasn’t a long time to be cooped up in the apartment but James knew it would eventually start wearing on them both if they didn’t find a solution and fast. They had been talking about waiting for the initial heat to die down before taking a trip. Sneak out of the country and flee to Croatia, or maybe Romania. That had been James' plan before he’d met Wade anyways. It was still a good option but the knowledge that Wade would so easily uproot his entire life and run with him was a foreign feeling. Not necessarily unwelcome but strange and James wasn't really sure what to do with it.

Rain began to splatter against the windows, echoing the footsteps that pattered softly out in the hall. James frowned, focusing in on the patterns, too organized and too many to simply be a returning neighbour. Then the soft familiar metallic sound of gunmetal sliding into place. He felt Wade tense behind him moments before the door blew inwards.

The Soldier slammed awake and James shoved them back, arching up as the couch flipped over just before the crack of automatic weapons fire lit up the room. James rolled, first over Wade then underneath him as he grabbed the slender man and flipped him across the floor as bullets slammed into the floorboard where they had just been. James locked eyes with Wade as they lay nose to nose, Wade on top with James’ hands gripping the merc's biceps. “Eight, full tac gear,” he breathed. Wade nodded sharply before rolling off to the side.

The merc snatched up a nearby tchotchke, a good-awful little cherub he’d insisted buying at some street side flea market they’d passed by a month ago, and flung it with deadly accuracy. It nailed the farthest attacker in the gab between his chin and his tac vest and the man dropped, hands clutching at his throat. James used the distraction and vaulted over the couch. He grabbed the rifle of the closest man, slamming it up and back into his face with a violent crack. He hauled the limp body up and flung him like a doll, taking down two more as a large hunting knife bloomed in the shoulder of a third.

James lashed out a foot, thankful he hadn’t gotten around to taking his boots of yet, and slammed the toe into someone’s temple. The man’s head slammed sideways into the unfinished bathroom wall and he dropped like a sack of bricks. He whipped around just in time to see Wade drop the last guy but too slow as one of the black-clad soldiers James took down rose to his feet, gun up. James leapt across the kitchen as Wade turned, too slow to do anything but watch the muzzle of the rifle train on his heart and the man pull the trigger.

Bullets ricocheted off James’ artificial arm in a shower of sparks as he flung himself between the gun and the mercenary. Wade used the opportunity to rip the cast-iron frying pan down from it’s hook and chucked it like a frisbee. It slammed into the man’s jaw with a sickly crunch and he dropped. James shook his head sharply, clearing the ringing in his ears as he grabbed Wade roughly, checking him over for damage. “I’m fine,” Wade said, a little breathless as he patted James on the shoulder and crossed the room towards the downed attackers.

“Fuck, these are _cops_ ,” he spat, rolling the man over to display the discreet patch on his bicep sleeve. James wasn’t playing attention. Shouting could be heard through the walls and more footsteps were thundering up the stairwell. “What are you doing?” Wade asked as James lined up what was left of the door back up with the entrance. He listened intently, hearing the footsteps slowing outside in the hall. Soft murmurs reached his ears. He took a slow breath and let the frost take over, sharpening everything to a needlepoint.

 _“Jaime!”_ Wade hissed. “Just stay behind me,” he ordered before sending the door blasting out into the hallway with a powerful kick.

The rest was a blur of adrenaline and focus. His body moved on autopilot from punch to kick as he made his way down the rusted staircases and through anyone who got in his way. A small part of his brain kept the Soldier in check, kept himself from killing anyone. Broken bones were another story however. It felt like seconds until the landing two floors down was littered with bodies and everything was quiet again.

Wade slide around the stairwell corner, eyes wide as he took in the destruction. “Fuck, you’re fast,” he breathed. “Didn’t even leave any fun for m—.” His eyes slide past James and suddenly there was a gun in his hand and it was trained on something over James’ shoulder. He whipped around, eyes snapping to the large man silhouetted against the hall window. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a cowl covering the top half of his face. Shitty fluorescent lights reflected off the large round shield strapped to his left arm.

The air left James’ lungs and all he could do was stare, face stony but underneath his heart fluttered like a hummingbird. The man’s eyes slide over the bodies strewn about the hall and back over Wade before locking onto James. And then the man spoke, voice rough like he hadn’t had a proper sleep in a while but so achingly familiar.

“Do you know me?”

He felt Wade shift behind him, but the merc didn’t say or do anything. He was waiting on James. He weighted the options of lying before finally settling on a half truth. “You’re Steve,” he said softly. Something shifted in the blonde man’s eyes, something painfully hopeful, and James couldn’t bring himself to keep looking at them anymore. “I read about you in a museum,” he added quickly, eyes flicking to the side before snapping back up. A soft buzz came from what he assumed was the man’s coms. He hadn’t come here alone. Good, the idiot was finally wising up in his old age. The thought flickered through James’ mind like an echo from a time long past.

“I know you’re nervous.” Steve was speaking again. "You have plenty of reason to be," he said. He took a few steps closer, arms held loosely at his sides but James tensed all the same. He felt Wade mimic his movements, shifting closer and to the side for a clearer shot. James watched Steve’s eyes flick behind him to Wade before focusing back to him. Bright blue eyes locked onto his own. 

“But you’re lying.”

James’ jaw muscles bulged as he clenched his molars together. He never could get away with lying to Steve, not even when they were kids. “I wasn’t in Vienna,” he stated. “I don’t do that anymore.” Steve’s comms buzzed again, relaying something that had the man’s eyes snapping to the nearby window that lead onto the fire escape. “Well the people who think you did are coming here now,” he said, eyes darting back to the black-clad men on the ground briefly. “And they’re not planning on taking you alive.”

“Yeah no shit, Sherlock,” Wade muttered from behind him but James ignored him. “That’s smart,” he said, shifting his weight back as he heard heavy boots landing on the fire escape outside and a few floors up. “Good strategy.”

Steve’s eyes bore into him, bright and electric in the ill-lit hallway. James had forgotten how he could do that. It was something about his eyes that seemed to cut straight through all the bullshit and see straight to the core. “This doesn’t have to end in a fight, Buck,” he said, tone hard but eyes pleading. James could hear footsteps below them now too. The clink of gunmetal scraping on tach vest buckles. “It always ends in a fight,” he sighed, voice wearier than he’d wanted it to sound. “You pulled me from the river,” Steve pressed, glancing quickly back towards the windows again. “Why?” James took a breath, shifting backwards and closer to Wade. “I don’t know,” he lied but his voice quivered and he knew he’d fucked up. Steve knew it too.

“Yes you do.”

A moment passed with twin sets of blue eyes locked across the hallway before the tension was broken. All three men’s heads whipped to the window as a flashbang was tossed through with a shattering crash. Steve batted it back through the window but another one quickly followed, rolling across the stained carpet to James’ feet. He kicked it back towards Steve, who quickly covered it with his shield a breath before it detonated.

Two black clad men on belay ropes smashed through the windows. Wade was the closest and wasted no time pistol whipping the man as Steve yanked the throw rug out from under the other’s feet. Bullets perforated the ceiling, raining plaster dust down on them as James grabbed the one Wade had punched and flung him across the hall. The line the man was still attached to yanked him back cruelly and he fell to the ground. James grabbed Wade and flung him towards the stairs. The door to the fire escape slammed open. Steve spun and grabbed the muzzle of the soldier’s rifle, yanking it up to the ceiling. James took the opening and lashed out with a brutal kick to the man’s chest.

“Buck, _stop!_ ”

A hand grabbed the back of his hoody and James spun swiftly under it, coming back up in Steve’s face, eyes hard. “You’re gonna kill someone,” Steve snapped. James planted his left hand on the man’s chest, right above that fancy silver star and slammed him down to the ground. The brief look of fear in Steve’s eyes as he stared up at the former assassin looming over him felt like a kick to the ribs.

“I’m not gonna kill anyone,” James murmured.

A crash had them both looking up as another soldier belayed through the window, rifle raised. In a mirror move of what just had happened inside the apartment, James threw himself in between Steve and the gun, left arm raised as he deflected the first hail of bullets. A split second later and Steve was on his feet, tucking himself under James’ right arm as he shielded them both.

It almost felt like nothing had changed and for that brief moment, James was back in France. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a soldier land on the fire escape. It cemented itself in his mind that everything had changed and nothing would be the same as he did something he would have never done back then and threw Steve through the window at the approaching soldier. They both went down hard in a tangle of limbs.

He strode towards the remaining man, left hand deflected the man’s shots before he was close enough to slam his head through the plaster wall. Movement blurred in his peripheral and his eyes snapped up to one of the other soldier getting to his feet, gun raised. A sharp crack filled the hallway and Jame flinched up it was the soldier that cried out, leg crumpling under him as blood gushed from his knee. James’ eyes snapped to Wade who was peering at him through the stairwell railing. “What, I heard you. Not gonna kill anyone. Following your example for once,” he quipped with a rakish smile. “Now move it Bucky Bear, it’s not International Picnic Day anymore. No time for dilly-dallying.”

The rest of the fight was brutal, with a few improvised building leaps that would have had Batman jealous but left Wade with a twisted ankle and James a wrenched shoulder. Finally, they stood panting on a roof, giving themselves a few precious breaths of rest. “So,” Wade gasped. “What’s the plan here?” James saw the way the merc subtly shifted most of his weight off his left foot, saw the blood that was beginning to soak through his shirt over his ribs were a bullet at grazed him. He saw the determination and spark in the man’s dark eyes, daring him to say what they were both thinking while at the same time telling him to keep his fucking mouth shut.

They couldn’t keep this up. Wade couldn’t. James would end up getting them both killed at this rate and he couldn’t let that happen. Not to the one good thing that had come into his life since he’d fallen from that godforsaken train. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself. “Hello?” Wade was saying, waving his hand irritatingly about in James’ face but eyes genuinely concerned. God, the man was truly unshakable. “You stand too close to one of those flashbangs, Robocop? Because the lights are on but no-one seems to be home and—.”

“I love you,” James interrupted.

The words seem to evaporate off Wade’s tongue and he just stared at James like someone had just told him that animal crackers are made from actual zoo animals. “What?” he breathed, blinking owlishly. James fought and lost the urge to smirk. It wasn’t often he was able to catch Wade this off guard. Even as sirens blared below them and he could hear the thrumming of helicopter blades in the distance, James made time for this. Besides, it was probably going to be his last chance.

“I love you,” he said again, closing the distance between the two of them until they were almost nose to nose. Wade’s breath hitched a little as he placed a hand firmly around James’ bicep. “I’m a sucker for romantic near-death confessions as much as the next guy but maybe save this one until we are not actually about to die, huh?” Wade smirked, brow furrowing a little in confusion. James said nothing, just reached up and cupped the side of Wade’s face. “You’re starting to scare me, Tinman,” Wade said with a breathy chuckle, stumbling a little as he was marched gently backwards. James leaned closer and pressed his lips against Wade’s, a gentle barely-there touch.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“What—,” was all Wade got out before James shoved him backwards off the roof.

Then he ran.

He ran, feet eating up the roof as he booked it in the opposite direction. A flash of a shadow was the only warning he got and he just managed to turn, getting his left arm up to shield his head before something slammed into him from above and he was sent sprawling. He was back on his feet in an instant, facing off a man in an armoured black suit and helmet. Where those cat ears? The man slide into a defensive stance, claw like knives extending from his fingers with a soft snick.

James threw the first punch but it didn’t even come close to landing as the cat-man got a kick to his chest that managed to wind him even with the serum pumping through his veins. The fight was furious, James barely managing to block the flurry of blows raining down on him. A sharp backhand cracked across his jaw before a knee to the chest sent him flying back into the side of an electrical box. The metal crumpled behind him and he barely had a breath before the man was on him. He dodged to the side with a gasp as those sharp claws slashed through right where his face had just been, leaving deep gouges in the metal.

He’d barely gotten back on his feet before another blow sent him spinning back to the ground. He just managed to catch the man’s wrists, pinned on his back with claws inches from his face and getting closer. Fuck, this guy was strong. He felt himself lock eyes with his attacker, but there was nothing for him to see but an expressionless mask. Bullets cracked into the root, carving a path through the cement towards them. The bullets pinged off the man, bouncing off his suit as if they were blanks but it was all the distraction James needed. He got a foot between them and threw the cat-man off before leaping off the side of the roof and landing on a narrow ledge a few stories down.

The rest of the chase was a blur. Bullets rained down from the helicopter as Bucky wove through traffic, trying to avoid the weird cat-man seemingly hellbent on stretching his eyes out, Steve, and what seemed like the entire military force of the United States. Needless to say, it didn’t end well for him.

 

 

“Hello, Mr. Barnes,” the tweedy little man said, voice thick with some Eastern European accent that he couldn’t quite place. “I have been sent by the United Nations to evaluate you.” The words stuck under James’ skin like needles, and he felt his muscles flex underneath the thick metal straps that kept him immobilized. He let his head lay back against the little headrest, staring at the ceiling of the tiny box as the man asked if he could sit. He didn’t bother answering. The man sat anyways.

“Your first name is James?” he was asked and again he didn’t bother answering. He didn’t know what was coming next, or rather he could think of too many options. Best case scenario is that he got locked up like a dirty secret for the rest of his unnatural life. Worst case, they tried to use him, rip him apart to see what made him tick or even worse, try to reprogram him. Weaponize him again.

“I’m not here to judge you,” the man continued. “I just want to ask you a few questions. Do you know where you are, James?” The way the man said his name grated on his nerves. He’d never really liked it, wasn’t used to hearing it anymore. Wade never called him James, only Jaime. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, James.”

“My name is Bucky,” he said, voice gravelly as he looked up for the first time since they’d stuck him in this cell. That name held different ghosts but it felt better to hear than James. The man scribbled something in his notebook, glasses perched high on his nose. “Tell me Bucky,” he continued. “You’ve seen a great deal, haven’t you?” _No shit,_ he thought. “I don’t wanna talk about it,” he said instead, staring coldly across the space between them. “You feel that if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop,” the man said shrewdly. James, Bucky, fuck he didn’t even know how to think of himself anymore, swallowed thickly.

Everything had been so clear to him. Well, maybe not clear but more focused than it had been in a long time. However cheesy it seemed, that mouthy merc had been a light in the fog. Suddenly the lights over head winked out, flashing red alarms taking its place.

“What the hell is this?” he asked slowly, glancing around.

“Why don’t we discuss your home?” the tweedy little man said in reply, hands clasped loosely on the table in front of him like he hadn’t a care in the world. “Not Brooklyn, no,” he continued, reaching for something in his satchel. “I mean your real home,” he said softly, pulling out a leather bound red book, emblazoned with a black star.

Frost crystallized in his lungs and it felt like he was underwater. Everything around him was muffled as he stared through the ballistic glass at that innocent looking little book. He barely registered the man taking off his glasses and pulling out a flashlight. Red light blazed and died away as his heartbeat roared in his ears.

_“Zilánie.”_

He closed his eyes against the painful prickle the word had sparked behind his eyes. “No,” he breathed, fear and panic contracting his chest and making it hard to breathe. He tilted his head back against the rest, muscles trembling as the second word reached his ears.

_“Ržávy.”_

“Stop,” he begged, voice shaky as his lips trembled. _“Simnátsatʹ,”_ the man continued, circling closer, flashlight held aloft over those godforsaken words. His left hand clenched, metal plates whirring as his muscles spasmed. “Stop,” he said again, heat behind the words this time, brow furrowing as his breath came out as a snarl.

 _“Rassvét,”_ the man snapped.

White hot pain seared up his neck and across his temples as he flung his head back with a scream. No, no. Not again.  _No!_ He wasn’t going to let this fucking happen. Not again. He wasn’t going to forget. James wasn’t going to _let_ himself forget. Not him. He couldn’t forget _him_.

His left arm tore free with a harsh shriek, metal fingers shredding the remaining restraints. _“Péč,”_ the man was saying, voice a little louder over the noise. James slammed his left fist into the ballistic glass as hard as he could. It barely made a dent. The man kept talking, the guttural words like a red hot poker to his brain, and James kept punching. The glass cracked under his fist, spiderweb splinters racing across its surface. The words kept coming and the tiny rational part of James’ mind clinging to the present knew he was almost finished the sequence. He kept punching, rearing back his whole arm and slamming it forward again and again again and…

The last thing he remembered was pitching forward onto the cold cement floor and then everything went white.

 

 

  
The next thing he remembered was waking up bent forward over his own lap, head pounding and left arm stretched painfully up behind him. He tried to sit up and almost blacked out again as hot pain crackled across his temples. A choked groan dribbled past his lips as his right hand reached along his left to find his arm trapped in some sort of vice.

“Sleeping Beauty finally wakes,” a familiar voice drawled. "And didn't even need a kiss from Prince Charming." He blinked spots from his eyes, looking up through his hair. He struggled to focus on the man sitting backwards in a beat up metal chair. Short blonde hair, a tight black t-shirt revealing a white bandage poking out from around a bicep, the shadows of bruises dancing across cheekbone jawline. Dark eyes sharp and wary. "You ever read the original story?" the man was saying. "That's some fucked up shit they decided to make into a kids film, if you ask me."

“Wade?” he whispered.

“You back with me, Terminator?” the merc asked, tone sharp. James struggled to organize his scrambled brain enough to understand what had happened. The last thing he remembered was being in custody. Steve looking at him with those sad puppy dog eyes of his, full of disappointment and regret. Being interviewed by a tweedy man in glasses. Wait, no. He didn't have glasses. And the book….   

James closed his eyes against the tears that pricked the corners of his eyes. Everything was still in there, still rattling around in his head. Everything HYDRA did to him, made him become. He had been unmade so easily, reverted back into a fucking puppet. "All he had to say were the goddamn words," he moaned, head falling forward again. 

He could feel Wade's eyes on him, assessing him. "What did I do?" he asked the ground softly, fearing the response but needing the truth. He needed to know. "Quite a bit," came the reply. "Did I kill anyone?" he asked, forcing the words past his lips and past the ice that was lodged in his throat. "I don't know," Wade replied quietly, painfully honest sounding. He looked up through his hair at the mercenary. "Did I do _that?_ " he whispered, eyeing the discolouration on the merc's cheek and jaw. Wade huffed, a humourless crooked smirk tugging at his lips. "You've got a hell of a right hook," he said flatly. 

James scrubbed his right hand over his eyes, the guilt and blame making his eyes sting. He tugged uselessly at the vince but his arm was stuck solidly. He looked up again, registering the wary suspicion in the older man's eyes. He'd never seen the man look at him like that before. Not when waking him from a nightmare or a flashback, not when rescuing him from HYDRA itself. James swallowed thickly, knowing Wade would probably never look at him the same way again. Not after coming face to face with the real Soldier. Sure, the merc had seen the shadows. He'd dealt with the remnants of the programming, clinging to the corners of nightmares, but never this. He'd never come face to face with the monster before. 

“Your middle name is Winston,” James said softly, knowing Wade would need proof that he was really him and hoping he could provide even just a sliver of it. “When we first met, you bet on me in the Dead Pool. And you're a Canadian who can’t skate.”

Wade stared at him for a long time before nodding jerkily. “Fair enough,” he said. James let out a shaky breath, relief flushing some of the tension from his body. He struggled to sit up fully but the angle of his arm trapped in the vice made it impossible. His flesh fingers gripping the edge of the machine for support. The merc didn’t move, just kept staring him. “Seriously?” James murmured, feeling more than a little pathetic. Wade shrugged, shoulders ripping a little stiffer than normal. “Well, you did throw me off a roof,” he drawled sharply. “That doesn’t help foster generous feelings.”

“I knew the balcony was there,” James protested weakly. “Not the point,” Wade countered immediately. “I didn’t want you to get involved,” he replied, hunching over his knees to try and relieve some of the strain on his shoulder. “You involved me the second you decided to come home with me that night,” Wade snapped sharply.

James' breath hitched, throat tight. “I know,” he said softly, guilt welling bitterly in his chest as he stared at the oil stained floor. “I’m sorry.” He heard Wade mutter a curse under his breath, felt the air displace around him as he moved. A harsh whir echoed in his ear as his arm was released from the machine’s pinch hold. He carefully extracted himself, rolling his shoulder to ease the tense muscles.

A hand gripped his chin and yanked his head up to meet dark eyes hot with anger. “Don’t you ever fucking presume to make decisions for me again,” Wade growled softly, eyes sparking. “I’m sorry,” James whispered again, which only seemed to agitate Wade further. “And stop fucking apologizing, christ on a cracker,” the merc snapped before pressing his lips roughly against James’.

“I thought I lost you,” Wade breathed against his lips when he finally pulled away. “You came after me,” James said, more than a little wonder in his voice as broken images of Wade in aviators and a UPS jacket slipped through the blank void the trigger words created. “Damn straight I came after you,” Wade grumbled, flicking his fingers non-too-gently against the side of James’ skull. “You that fucked in the head to think I wouldn’t?” Wade's grip on his chin turned gentle. He knelt until they were at the same level, calloused thumb gently caressing the corner of James' mouth.

"I love you too, dumbass," Wade grumbled, his other hand brushing damp strands of hair from his eyes. James’ only reply was to close the gap between them again and kiss the merc for all he was worth.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long without an update! I decided to parallel Civil War a little/a lot for this chapter, but with the question "what if Wade was there?" and see what happened. Hope you enjoyed!!

**Author's Note:**

> Had this written a while ago. Just did an edit pass and thought why not post it? It was written as a one shot but let me know if you like the story and want it to continue! I seem to have a lot of stories on the go but I'll gladly juggle one more if you all enjoyed reading and want more! Let me know! Feedback is my fairy dust!
> 
> Also, Ann Darrow is the woman from King Kong


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